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A    SERVANT    of  the    PUBLIC 


-':  'shall  p.;:  you ng— young  enough— for  ten  years 

MORI-..  AND   WITH   THE    PROPER   APPLIANCES,   BEAUTIFUL   FOR 
TWENTY."— Page  60. 


A    SERVANT 
of  the  PUBLIC 

By    ANTHONY     HOPE 

Author  of  *  *  Quisante, "  "  Phroso, "  "  The  Prisoner  of  Zen  da, ' '  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

HAROLD    PERCIVAL,  A.R.E. 


NEW    YORK   •   FREDERICK    A 
STOKES    COMPANY,  Publishers 


Copyright,  /goj, 
By  A.  H.  Hawkins 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  in  September,  1905 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I.      MUDDOCK   AND    MEAD i 

II.    First  Impressions 15 

III.  An  Arrangement  for  Sunday 29 

IV.  By  Way  of  Precaution 43 

V.    A  Day  in  the  Country 55 

VI.    Away  with  the  Ribbons  ! 70 

VII.    Under  the  Nosegay 86 

VIII.    The  Legitimate  Claimant 102 

IX.    Renunciation  :  A  Drama 118 

X.    The  Licence  of  Virtue 133 

XL    What  is  Truth? 149 

XII.    At  Close  Quarters 164 

XIII.  The  Heroine  fails 179 

XIV.  As  Mr.  Flint  said 194 

XV.    The  Man  Upstairs 210 

XVI.    Morality  smiles 227 

XVII.   At  Sea  and  in  Port 243 

XVIII.    The  Play  and  the  Part 257 


28v2 


vi  CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

XIX.    Collateral  Effects 270 

XX.    The  Ways  divide 286 

XXI.    What  does  it  Mean? 301 

XXII.    Other  Worlds 316 

XXIII.  The  Most  Natural  Thing 332 

XXIV.  "A  Good  Sight" 348 


A  Servant  of  the  Public 


CHAPTER  I 

MUDDOCK  AND   MEAD 

THE  social  birth  of  a  family,  united  by  a  chain  of 
parallel  events  with  the  commercial  development 
of  a  business,  is  a  spectacle  strange  to  no  country  but 
most  common  among  the  nation  of  shopkeepers;  it 
presents,  however,  interesting  points  and  is  likely  to 
produce  a  group  of  persons  rather  diverse  in  character. 
Some  of  the  family  breathe  the  new  air  readily  enough ; 
with  some  the  straw  of  the  omnibus  (there  was  straw 
in  omnibuses  during  the  formative  period)  follows  on 
silken  skirts  into  the  landau.  It  takes,  they  say,  three 
generations  to  make  a  gentleman;  the  schools  ticket 
them  —  National  or  Board,  Commercial  or  Grammar, 
Eton  or  Harrow.  Three  generations,  not  perhaps  of 
human  flesh,  but  of  mercantile  growth,  it  takes  to  make 
a  great  Concern.  The  humble  parent-tree  in  the  Com- 
mercial Road  puts  forth  branches  in  Brixton,  Camber- 
well,  Stoke  Newington,  wherever  buyers  are  many  and 
"  turnover  "  quick :  here  is  the  second  period,  when  the 
business  is  already  large  and  lucrative,  but  not  yet  im- 
posing. Then  a  new  ambition  stirs  and  works  in  the 
creator's  mind ;  there  is  still  a  world  to  conquer. 
Appearance  is  added  to  reality,  show  to  substance. 
A  splendid  block  rises  somewhere  within  the  ken  of 
fashion ;  it  is  red,  with  white  facings,  a  tower  or  two, 


2      A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

perhaps  a  clock.  First  and  last,  a  good  deal  is  said 
aboJt  it  in  talk  V)d  in  print.  Possibly  a  luncheon  is 
given.  Now  there  are  points  of  policy  to  be  prac- 
tj.^ed,  not-  directly  productive  of  hard  money,  but  pow- 
erful in  the  long  run.  For  example,  the  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  who  serve  the  counters  should  be  well 
treated,  and  carefully  looked  after  in  regard  to  their 
morals.  And  if  this  be  done,  there  is  no  reason  against 
having  the  fact  stated  with  the  utmost  available  public- 
ity. For  this  service,  sections  of  an  all-embracing  Press 
are  ready  and  willing.  In  the  eye  of  the  polite  world 
this  big  block  is  now  the  business:  the  branches  are 
still  profitable,  but  the  ledgers  alone  sing  their  virtues ; 
men  cease  to  judge  the  position  or  the  purse  of  the 
family  by  their  humble  fronts.  For  the  family  too 
has  been  on  the  move ;  it  has  passed,  in  orderly  pro- 
gression, in  an  ascent  of  gentility,  from  Putney  to 
Maida  Vale,  from  Maida  Vale  to  Paddington,  from 
Paddington  to  Kensington  Palace  Gardens.  At  each 
stopping-place  it  may  acquire  members,  at  some  it  will 
lose  them ;  the  graves  where  those  lie  who  have  dropped 
from  the  ranks  are  themselves  milestones  on  the  march. 
The  survivors  have  each  some  scent,  some  trace,  of  their 
place  of  origin.  To  the  architect  of  fortune  the  Com- 
mercial Road  is  native  and  familiar;  he  lost  his  first 
love  there  and  buried  her  down  East.  His  second  wife 
dates  from  the  latter  end  of  the  Maida  Vale  time  and  is 
in  all  essentials  of  the  Middle,  or  Paddington,  Period. 
The  children  recollect  Paddington  as  childhood's  home, 
have  extorted  information  about  Maida  Vale,  talk  of 
Putney  with  a  laugh,  and  seem  almost  of  true  Kensington 
Palace  Gardens'  blood.  Yet  even  in  them  there  is  an 
element  which  they  are  hardly  conscious  of,  an  element 
not  to  be  refined  away  till  the  third  generation  of  human 


MUDDOCK   AND   MEAD  3 

flesh  has  run.  Then  comes  the  perfect  product;  a 
baronetcy  is  often  supposed  to  mark,  but  sometimes  may- 
be considered  to  precede,  its  appearance.  Indeed  —  for 
it  is  time  to  descend  to  the  particular — Sir  James 
Muddock  was  hardly  the  perfect  product;  nay,  he  still 
strove  valiantly  to  plume  himself  on  not  being  such.  But 
with  a  wife  and  children  it  is  hard  to  go  on  exulting  in  a 
lowly  origin.  It  is  also  rather  selfish,  and  was  certainly 
so  in  Sir  James'  case,  since  Lady  Muddock  was  very 
sensitive  on  the  subject.  It  would  seem  that  being  of  the 
Middle  Period  is  apt  to  produce  a  sensitiveness  of  this 
sort;  the  pride  of  achievement  is  not  there,  the  pride  of 
position  is  still  new  and  uneasy. 

Somewhat  in  this  vein,  but  with  a  more  malicious 
and  humorous  turn  of  speech,  Ashley  Mead  ran  through 
the  history  of  the  firm  of  Muddock  and  Mead  for  Lady 
Kilnorton's  pleasure  and  information.  She  was  inter- 
ested in  them  as  phenomena  and  as  neighbours ;  they 
were  hardly  more  than  across  the  road  from  her  house 
in  Queen's  Gate.  Ashley  spoke  with  full  knowledge ; 
both  business  and  family  were  familiar  to  him ;  he  him- 
self represented  an  episode  in  the  career  of  the  concern 
which  survived  only  in  its  name.  He  used  to  say  that 
he  had  just  missed  being  a  fit  figure  for  romance ;  his 
father  had  not  been  a  scatter-brained  genius  bought 
out  of  a  splendid  certainty  of  wealth  for  fifty  pounds, 
but  a  lazy  man  who  very  contentedly  and  with  open 
eyes  accepted  fifteen  thousand  pounds  and  leisure  in 
preference  to  hard  work  and  an  off-chance  of  riches. 
This  elder  Mead  had  come  into  the  business  with  three 
thousand  pounds  when  capital  was  wanted  for  the  Stoke 
Newington  branch,  and  had  gone  out  when  ambition 
began  to  whisper  the  name  of  Buckingham  Palace  Road. 
He  had  not  felt  aggrieved  at  losing  opulence,  but  had 


4      A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

lived  on  his  spoil  —  after  all,  a  good  return  for  his  in- 
vestment —  and  died  with  it  in  cheerfulness.  But  then 
he  had  not  been  born  a  trader.  He  came  of  the  pro- 
fessions ;  money-making  was  not  in  his  blood  nor  bone 
of  his  bone,  as  it  must  be  in  the  frame  of  one  who  is  to 
grow  gradually  by  his  own  labour  to  the  status  of  a 
millionaire.  The  instinct  of  gain  was  not  in  his  son 
either;  Ashley  laughed  with  unreserved  good-nature 
as  he  said : 

"  If  my  father  hadn't  gone  out,  I  should  have  had 
half  the  business,  I  suppose,  instead  of  starving  along 
on  four  hundred  a  year." 

"You've  your  profession,"  observed  Lady  Kilnorton, 
hardly  seriously.     "  The  Bar,  you  know." 

"  My  profession?"  he  laughed,  as  he  leant  against  the 
mantel-piece  and  looked  down  at  her.  "  I  'm  one  of 
five  thousand  names  on  five  hundred  doors,  if  that 's  a 
profession !  " 

"  You  might  make  it  one,"  she  suggested,  but  not  as 
though  the  subject  interested  her  or  were  likely  to  in- 
terest him.  The  little  rebuke  had  all  the  perfunctori- 
ness  of  duty  and  convention. 

"The  funny  thing  is,"  he  went  on,  "that  old  Sir 
James  would  like  to  get  me  back  now ;  he 's  always 
hinting  about  it.     Shall  I  go  and  sell  the  ribbons?" 

"Why  can't  Mr.  Robert  sell  the  ribbons?" 

"  Well,  in  the  family  we  don't  think  Bob  very  bright, 
you  see." 

"  Oh !  Alice  is  bright,  though ;  at  least  she  's  very 
clear-headed." 

"  More  brains  than  any  of  them.  And  what  did  you 
think  of  My  lady?" 

"Of  My  lady?"  Irene  Kilnorton  laughed  a  little, 
raised  her  brows  a  little,  and  paused  before  she  said : 


MUDDOCK   AND   MEAD  5 

"Well,  her  hair's  too  fluffy,  isn't  it?     They  don't  beat 
her,  do  they?     She  looks  rather  like  it." 

"  No,  they  don't  beat  her ;  but  she  's  not  quite  sure 
that  she  's  got  the  grand  manner." 

"  Isn't  she?"  said  Lady  Kilnorton,  laughing  again. 

"  And  then  Sir  James  insists  on  referring  to  Putney, 
especially  by  way  of  acknowledging  the  goodness  of 
God  in  family  prayers.  The  servants  are  there,  of 
course,  and  —  you  understand?" 

"  Perfectly,  Mr.  Mead.  In  such  a  case  I  shouldn't 
like  it  myself." 

"  Lady  Muddock  has  no  objection  to  being  thankful 
privately,  but  she  doesn't  like  it  talked  about." 

"You  go  there  a  great  deal?"  she  asked,  with  a 
glance  at  him. 

"Yes,  a  good  deal." 

"  And  the  girl  —  Alice  —  is  very  fond  of  you  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  you  're  bound  to  say  that !  Would  she  go  with 
—  with  selling  the  ribbons?"  But  she  went  on  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  perhaps  because  she  had  risked  a 
snub.     "  I  was  received  with  immense  empress entente 

"  You  're  a  bit  of  a  swell,  aren't  you?  " 

"  A  poverty-stricken  Irish  widow !  No,  but  I  took 
some  swells  with  me." 

"  Lord  Bowdon,  for  instance?" 

"  Yes,  Lord  Bowdon.  And  a  greater  swell  still  — 
Miss  Ora  Pinsent." 

A  pause  followed.  Ashley  looked  over  his  hostess' 
head  out  of  the  window.  Then  Lady  Kilnorton  added, 
"  Lord  Bowdon  drove  Miss  Pinsent  to  her  house 
afterwards." 

Another  pause  followed  ;  each  was  wondering  what  the 
other's  point  of  view  might  be. 


6      A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Fancy  Ora  Pinsent  at  the   Muddocks' !  "   reflected 
Ashley  presently.     "  She  went  to  please  you?  " 

"How  do  I  know  why  she  went?     I  don't  suppose 
she  knew  herself." 

"  You  're  great  friends,  though?  " 

"  I  admire  and  despise,  love  and  most  bitterly  hate, 
Ora  Pinsent,"  said  Lady  Kilnorton. 

"  All  at  once?  "  asked  Ashley  with  a  smile,  and  brows 
raised  in  protest. 

"  Yes,  all  at  once,  and  successively,  and  alternately, 
and  in  all  sorts  of  various  combinations." 

"And  Lord  Bowdon  drove  her  home?"     His  tone 
begged  for  a  comment  from  his  companion. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  she  answered  with  a  touch  of  irrita- 
tion, which  was  as  significant  as  any  comment. 

The  servant  came  in,  bringing  tea;  they  were  silent 
while  the  preparations  were  made.  Ashley,  however, 
covertly  regarded  his  friend's  trim  figure  and  pretty, 
small  features.  He  often  felt  rather  surprised  that  he 
had  no  inclination  to  fall  in  love  with,  or  even  to  make 
love  to,  Irene  Kilnorton.  Many  men  had  such  an  in- 
clination, he  knew;  among  them  he  ranked  this  same 
Lord  Bowdon  who  had  driven  Miss  Pinsent  to  her  house. 
Lady  Kilnorton  was  young,  she  was  pretty,  she  had,  if 
not  wit,  at  least  the  readiness  of  reply  which  is  the  com- 
mon substitute  provided  by  the  habit  of  conversing  with 
wideawake  people.  It  was,  though,  very  pleasant  to 
have  so  charming  a  friend  and  to  be  in  no  danger  of 
transforming  her  into  the  doubtful  and  dangerous  char- 
acter of  a  woman  he  loved ;  so  he  told  himself,  having 
no  disposition  to  love  her. 

"  She  's  got  a  husband,  hasn't  she?  "  he  asked,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  the  footman. 

"  Ora?     Oh,  yes,  somewhere.     He  's  a  scamp,  I  think. 


MUDDOCK   AND   MEAD  7 

He  's  called  —  oh,  I  forget !  But  his  name  doesn't 
matter." 

"  They  Ve  always  got  a  husband,  he  's  always  a  scamp, 
and  his  name  never  matters,"  remarked  Ashley  between 
mouthfuls  of  toast. 

"  Fenning !     That 's  it !     Fenning." 

"Just  as  you  like,  Lady  Kilnorton.  It's  the  fact, 
not  what  you  call  it,  that 's  the  thing,  you  know." 

As  he  spoke  the  door  was  opened  again  and  Lord 
Bowdon  was  announced.  He  came  in  almost  eagerly, 
like  a  man  who  has  something  to  say,  shook  hands 
hastily,  and,  the  instant  that  he  dropped  into  a  chair, 
exclaimed,  "  What  a  glorious  creature  !  " 

"  I  knew  exactly  what  you  were  going  to  say  be- 
fore you  opened  your  lips,"  remarked  Lady  Kilnorton. 
"  You  haven't  been  long,  though."  There  was  a  touch 
of  malice  in  her  tone. 

"  It  wasn't  left  to  me  to  fix  the  length  of  the  inter- 
view. And  she  said  she  liked  driving  fast.  Well,  Ash- 
ley, my  boy,  how  are  you?" 

"  I  'm  all  right,  Lord  Bowdon." 

"  I  've  got  a  job  for  you.  I  '11  write  to  you  about  it 
presently.  It 's  a  Commission  they  Ve  put  me  on,  and 
I  thought  you  might  like  to  be  secretary." 

"  Anything  with  a  stipend,"  agreed  Ashley  cheer- 
fully. 

"  What  a  lot  men  think  of  money ! "  said  Lady 
Kilnorton. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  met  a  more  fascinating  creature," 
Lord  Bowdon  mused. 

"  It 's  awfully  good  of  you,"  continued  Ashley.  "  I  'm 
uncommonly  hard-up  just  now." 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  asked  Bowdon. 

11  Met  her  once  or  twice,"  Ashley  answered  very  care- 


8      A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

lessly.  Bowdon  seemed  to  fall  into  a  reverie,  as  he  gently 
stirred  his  tea  round  and  round.  Lady  Kilnorton  leant 
back  and  looked  at  the  mantel-piece.  But  presently  he 
glanced  at  her,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  began  to  discuss 
the  Muddocks.  Ashley  left  them  thus  engaged  when 
he  took  his  leave  ten  minutes  later. 

Lord  Bowdon  had  lived  a  full  and  active  life  which 
now  stretched  over  forty-three  years.  In  spite  of  much 
sport  and  amusement  he  had  found  time  for  some 
soldiering,  for  the  duties  of  his  station,  and  for  proving 
himself  an  unexpectedly  useful  and  sensible  Member  of 
Parliament.  But  he  had  not  found  time  to  be  married ; 
that  event  he  used  to  think  of  in  his  earlier  days  as 
somehow  connected  with  his  father's  death ;  when  he 
became  Earl  of  Daresbury,  he  would  marry.  However, 
about  a  year  back,  he  had  made  Lady  Kilnorton's  ac- 
quaintance, had  liked  her,  and  had  begun  to  draw  lazy 
and  leisurely  plans  about  her.  He  had  not  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  any  more  than  Ashley  Mead  had,  but  he  had 
drifted  into  a  considerable  affection  for  her.  His  father 
had  lived  to  be  old  ;  he  himself  had  already  grown  more 
middle-aged  than  was  desirable  in  a  bridegroom.  Dur- 
ing the  last  few  weeks  he  had  considered  the  project 
seriously;  and  that  he  had  assumed  this  attitude  of  mind 
could  hardly  have  escaped  the  lady's  notice.  He  had 
detected,  with  some  pleasure,  her  hidden  consciousness 
of  his  purpose  and  commended  her  for  a  gracefully  easy 
treatment  of  the  position.  She  did  not  make  at  him, 
nor  yet  run  away  from  him,  she  neither  hurried  nor 
repulsed  him.  Thus  by  degrees  the  thing  had  become 
very  pleasant  and  satisfactory  in  imagination.  It  was 
not  quite  what  in  by-gone  years  he  had  meant  by  being 
in  love  —  he  thanked  heaven  for  that,  after  reflection  — 
but  it  was  pleasant  and  satisfactory.     "  Let  it  go  on  to 


MUDDOCK   AND   MEAD  9 

the  end,"  he  would  have  said,  with  a  contentment  hardly 
conscious  of  an  element  of  resignation. 

To-day  there  was  a  check,  a  set-back  in  his  thoughts, 
and  he  was  uncomfortable  lest  it  might  shew  in  his 
manner.  He  talked  too  long  about  the  Muddocks,  then 
too  long  about  Ashley  Mead,  then  about  something 
quite  uninteresting.  There  was  an  unexplained  check ; 
it  vexed  and  puzzled  him.  Lady  Kilnorton,  with  her 
usual  directness,  told  him  what  it  was  before  they  parted. 

"You've  been  thinking  about  Ora  Pinsent  all  the 
time,"  she  said.  "  It  would  have  been  better  to  have 
the  courage  of  your  ingratitude  and  go  on  talking  about 
her."  The  gay,  good-humoured  words  were  accompanied 
by  a  rather  nervous  little  smile. 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  Bowdon  bluntly  and  with  un- 
disguised curiosity. 

"  She  's  Mrs.  Jack  Fenning.  I  don't  know  and  I  don't 
care  who  Jack  Fenning  is,  only  —  " 

"Only  what?" 

"  Only  he  's  not  dead.  I  know  you  think  that 's  the 
one  thing  he  ought  to  be." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  about  that,"  he  answered,  looking  in 
her  face.  The  face  had  suddenly  become  charming  to 
him  in  its  now  apparent  mixture  of  annoyance  and  merri- 
ment. "  Well,  I  must  be  going,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 
Then  he  laughed ;  Lady  Kilnorton,  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  joined  in  his  laugh. 

"  She  liked  me  to  drive  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  straight 
home  !  "  said  he.     "  Good-bye,  Lady  Kilnorton." 

"  Good-bye.  I  wonder  you  aren't  a  little  more 
sensible  at  your  age." 

"  She  carries  you  off  your  feet,  somehow,"  he  mur- 
mured apologetically,  as  he  made  for  the  door.  He 
was  feeling  both  rude  and  foolish,   confessing  thereby 


10     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

the  special  relation  towards  his  hostess  which  he  had 
come  to  occupy. 

Left  alone,  Irene  Kilnorton  sat  down  and  attempted 
a  dispassionate  appraisement  of  herself.  She  was  twenty- 
nine,  a  widow  of  four  years'  standing.  The  world,  which 
had  seemed  ended  when  her  young  husband  died,  had 
revived  for  her ;  such  is  the  world's  persistent  way.  She 
was  pretty,  not  beautiful,  bright,  not  brilliant,  pleasant, 
but  hardly  fascinating.  She  was  pleased  with  the  im- 
partiality which  conducted  her  so  far.  But  at  this  point 
the  judgment  of  herself  began  to  drift  into  a  judgment 
of  Ora  Pinsent,  who  seemed  to  be  all  that  she  herself 
had  just  missed  being;  in  assessing  Ora  the  negatives 
fell  out  and  the  limitations  had  to  be  discarded.  Yet 
her  mood  was  not  one  of  envy  for  Ora  Pinsent.  She 
would  not  be  Ora  Pinsent.  Among  those  various  feelings 
which  she  had  for  Ora,  there  was  one  which  she  had 
described  by  saying  "  I  despise  her."  The  mood,  in 
truth,  hung  doubtful  between  pity  and  contempt;  but 
it  was  enough  to  save  her  from  wishing  to  be  Ora  Pin- 
sent. She  would  sooner  put  up  with  the  negatives  and 
the  limitations.  But  she  might  wish,  and  did  wish,  that 
other  people  could  take  her  own  discerning  view  of  her 
friend.  She  did  not  call  herself  a  jealous  woman ;  but 
after  all  Lord  Bowdon  had  become  in  a  rather  special 
sense  her  property ;  now  he  was,  as  he  put  it  graphically 
enough,  carried  off  his  feet.  That  condition  would  not 
last ;  he  would  find  his  feet  and  his  feet  would  find  the 
ground  again  soon.  Meanwhile,  however,  she  could 
hardly  be  expected  exactly  to  like  it.  Men  did  such 
strange  things  —  or  so  she  had  been  told — just  in 
those  brief  spaces  of  time  when  the  feet  were  off  the 
ground  ;  perhaps  women  too  did  things  rather  strange  in 
a  similar  case. 


MUDDOCK  AND   MEAD  n 

"  And  poor  Ora's  feet,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  are  never 
really  on  the  ground." 

She  was  vaguely  conscious  that  her  mingled  admira- 
tion and  contempt  reflected  in  a  rather  commonplace 
fashion  the  habitual  attitude  of  good-sense  towards 
genius.  Not  being  in  love  with  commonplace  good- 
sense  as  an  intellectual  ideal,  she  grew  impatient  with 
her  thoughts,  flung  the  window  open,  and  sought  dis- 
traction in  the  sight  of  the  people  who  passed  up  and 
down  the  hill  through  the  cool  kindliness  of  the  June 
evening.  The  wayfarers  caught  her  idle  interest,  and 
she  had  almost  lost  herself  in  wondering  whether  the 
boy  and  girl  at  the  corner  would  kiss  before  they  parted 
when  she  was  recalled  to  her  own  sphere  by  seeing  two 
people  whom  she  knew  breasting  the  slope  on  bicycles. 
A  dark  young  man  inclining  to  stoutness,  very  elabo- 
rately arrayed  for  the  exercise  on  which  he  was  engaged, 
rode  side  by  side  with  a  dark  young  woman  inclining  to 
leanness,  plainly  clad,  with  a  face  that  a  man  might  learn 
to  think  attractive  by  much  looking,  but  would  not  give 
a  second  thought  to  in  a  London  drawing-room.  "  The 
young  Muddocks,"  said  Irene,  drawing  back  and  peering 
at  them  from  behind  her  curtains.  "  Recovering  them- 
selves after  the  party,  I  suppose." 

She  watched  them  till  they  were  out  of  sight ;  why,  she 
did  not  ask  herself.  Of  course  there  was  the  interest  of 
wealth,  perhaps  a  vulgar,  but  seemingly  an  unavoidable, 
sensation  which  pounds  much  multiplied  enable  their  pos- 
sessors to  create.  There  was  more  ;  the  Muddocks  had 
come  somehow  into  her  orbit.  They  were  in  the  orbit 
of  her  friend  Ashley  Mead ;  the  girl  might  become  the 
most  important  satellite  there.  Irene's  own  act  had 
perhaps  brought  them  into  Ora  Pinsent's  orbit  —  where 
storms  were   apt  to  rage.     Curiosity  mingled  with  an 


12     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

absurd  sense  of  responsibility  in  her.  "  It 's  such  a  risk 
introducing  Ora  to  anybody,"  she  murmured,  and  with 
this  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  Bowdon  and  the  con- 
dition of  men  who  are  carried  off  their  feet. 

"  It 's  simply  that  I  'm  jealous,"  she  declared  petulantly, 
as  she  shut  the  window.  But  she  was  not  yet  to  escape 
from  Ora  Pinsent.  There  on  the  mantel-piece  was  a  full- 
length  photograph,  representing  Ora  in  her  latest  part 
and  signed  with  her  autograph,  a  big  O  followed  by  a 
short  sprawl  of  letters,  and  a  big  P  followed  by  a  longer 
sprawl.  Though  not  a  professed  believer  in  the  revela- 
tion of  character  by  handwriting,  Irene  found  something 
significant  in  this  signature,  in  the  impulse  which  seemed 
to  die  away  to  a  fatigued  perfunctory  ending,  in  the  bold 
beginning  that  lagged  on  to  a  conclusion  already  weari- 
some. Her  eyes  rose  to  the  face  of  the  portrait.  It 
shewed  a  woman  in  a  mood  of  audacity,  still  merry  and 
triumphant,  but  distantly  apprehensive  of  some  new 
and  yet  unrealised  danger.  Exultation,  barely  yet  most 
surely  touched  with  fear,  filled  the  eyes  and  shaped  the 
smile.  It  seemed  to  Irene  Kilnorton  that,  if  Ora  knew 
herself  and  her  own  temper,  such  reasonably  might  be 
her  disposition  towards  the  world  and  her  own  life  as 
well  as  her  pose  in  the  play  to  which  she  now  drew 
all  the  town ;  for  her  power  of  enjoying  greatly  in  all 
likelihood  carried  with  it  its  old  companion,  the  power 
greatly  to  suffer.  Yet  to  Irene  a  sort  of  triviality  af- 
fected both  capacities,  as  though  neither  could  be  exactly 
taken  seriously,  as  though  the  enjoyment  would  always 
be  childish,  the  suffering  none  too  genuine.  Good- 
sense  judged  genius  again ;  and  again  the  possessor 
of  good-sense  turned  impatiently  away,  not  knowing 
whether  her  contempt  should  be  for  herself  or  for  her 
friend. 


MUDDOCK   AND   MEAD  13 

Then  she  began  to  laugh,  suddenly  but  heartily,  at 
the  recollection  of  Lady  Muddock.  When  Ora  had 
passed  on  after  the  introduction,  and  Irene  was  lingering 
in  talk  with  her  hostess,  Lady  Muddock  had  raised  her 
timid  pale-blue  eyes,  nervously  fingered  that  growth 
of  hair  which  was  too  fluffy  for  her  years,  and  asked 
whether  Miss  Pinsent  were  "  nice.'*  This  adjective, 
maid-of-all-work  on  women's  lips,  had  come  with  such 
ludicrous  inadequacy  and  pitiful  inappropriateness  that 
even  at  the  moment  Irene  had  smiled.  Now  she 
laughed.  Yet  she  was  aware  that  Lady  Muddock  had 
no  more  than  this  one  epithet  with  which  to  achieve  a 
classification  of  humanity.  You  were  nice  or  you  were 
not  nice;  it  was  simple  dichotomy;  there  was  the  be- 
ginning, there  the  end  of  the  matter.  So  viewed,  the 
question  lost  its  artlessness  and  became  a  singularly 
difficult  and  searching  interrogation.  For  if  the  little 
adjective  were  given  its  rich  fulness  of  meaning,  its 
widely  representative  character  (it  had  to  sum  up  half  a 
world  !),  if  it  were  asked  whether,  on  the  whole,  Ora 
Pinsent  were  likely  to  be  a  good  element  in  the  world, 
or  (if  it  might  be  so  put)  a  profitable  speculation  on 
the  part  of  Nature,  Irene  Kilnorton  would  have  been 
quite  at  a  loss  to  answer.  In  fact  —  she  asked,  with  a 
laugh  still  but  now  a  puzzled  laugh  —  was  she  nice  or 
wasn't  she?  The  mixture  of  feelings  which  she  had 
described  to  Ashley  Mead  forbade  any  clear  and  defi- 
nite response  on  her  own  behalf.  On  Lady  Muddock's, 
however,  she  owned  that  the  verdict  must  be  in  the 
negative.  By  the  Muddock  standards,  nice  Ora  was 
not. 

And  what  was  this  absent  Jack  Fenning  like?  There 
seemed  no  materials  for  a  judgment,  except  that  he 
had  married  Ora  Pinsent  and  was  no  longer  with  Ora 


14    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Pinsent.  Here  was  a  combination  of  facts  about  him 
remarkable  enough  to  invest  him  with  a  certain  interest. 
The  rest  was  blank  ignorance. 

"And,"  said  Irene  with  another  slight  laugh,  "I 
suppose  I  'm  the  only  person  who  ever  took  the  trouble 
to  think  about  him.     I  'm  sure  Ora  never  does  !  " 


CHAPTER   II 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS 

IT  was  an  indication  of  the  changed  character  of 
the  business  that  the  big  block  in  Buckingham 
Palace  Road  closed  early  on  Saturdays,  surrendering 
the  hours  in  which  the  branches  continued  to  do  their 
most  roaring  trade.  The  day  after  the  party  was  a 
Saturday ;  Sir  James  and  his  son  were  making  their  way 
back  through  the  Park,  timed  to  arrive  at  home  for  a 
two  o'clock  luncheon.  The  custom  was  that  Lady 
Muddock  and  Alice  should  meet  them  at  or  about 
the  entrance  of  Kensington  Gardens,  and  the  four  walk 
together  to  the  house.  There  existed  in  the  family 
close  union,  modified  by  special  adorations.  Sir  James 
walked  with  his  daughter,  Bob  with  his  stepmother; 
this  order  never  varied,  being  the  natural  outcome  of 
the  old  man's  clinging  to  Alice,  and  of  Lady  Mud- 
dock's  pathetic  fidelity  to  Bob.  She  had  no  child  of 
her  own ;  she  looked  up  to  Alice,  but  was  conscious  of 
an  almost  cruel  clear-sightedness  in  her  which  made 
demonstrations  of  affection  seem  like  the  proffer  of 
excuses.  There  are  people  so  sensible  that  one  ca- 
resses them  with  an  apology.  Bob,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  easy  to  please;  you  had  to  look  after  his 
tastes,  admire  his  wardrobe,  and  not  bother  about  the 
business  out  of  hours;  he  asked  no  more,  his  step- 
mother did  no  less.     Thus  while  they  crossed  the  Gar- 


16     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

dens  Lady  Muddock  talked  of  yesterday's  party,  while 
Sir  James  consulted  his  daughter  as  to  the  affairs  of 
the  firm.  "  Alice  detected  here  and  there  in  what  he 
said  an  undercurrent  of  discontent  with  Bob,  on  the 
score  of  a  lack  not  of  diligence  but  of  power,  not  of 
the  willingness  to  buckle  to,  but  of  that  instinct  for 
the  true  game  —  the  right  move,  the  best  purchase,  the 
moment  to  stand  for  your  price,  the  moment  to  throw 
all  on  the  market  —  whence  spring  riches.  Sir  James 
expressed  his  meaning  clumsily,  but  he  ended  clearly 
enough  by  wishing  that  there  were  another  head  in  the 
business ;  for  he  grew  old,  and,  although  he  was  now 
relieved  from  Parliament,  found  the  work  heavy  on  him. 
Nothing  of  all  this  was  new  to  the  listener ;  the  tale  was 
an  old  one  and  led  always  to  .the  same  climax,  the  de- 
sire to  get  Ashley  Mead  back  into  the  business.  If 
Alice  objected  that  he  was  ignorant  and  untrained  in 
commercial  pursuits,  Sir  James  pushed  the  difficulty 
aside.  "  He  's  got  the  stuff  in  him,"  he  would  persist, 
and  then  look  at  his  daughter  in  a  questioning  way. 
With  this  look  also  she  was  familiar ;  the  question  which 
the  glance  put  was  whether  she  would  be  willing  to  do 
what  Lady  Kilnorton  called  "  going  with  selling  the 
ribbons." 

Such  was  the  suggestion ;  Alice's  mood  (she  treated 
herself  with  the  candour  which  she  bestowed  on  others) 
towards  it  was  that  she  would  be  willing  to  go  —  to  go 
to  Ashley  Mead,  but  not  to  go  with  selling  the  ribbons. 
The  point  was  not  one  of  pride ;  it  was  partly  that  she 
seemed  to  herself  to  be  weary  of  the  ribbons,  not 
ashamed  (she  was  free  from  that  little  weakness,  which 
beset  Bob  and  made  him  sensitive  to  jokes  about  his 
waistcoats  being  acquired  at  cost  price),  but  secretly  and 
rather   urgently   desirous  of  a  new  setting   and   back- 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS  17 

ground  for  her  life,  and  of  an  escape  from  surroundings 
grown  too  habitual.  But  it  was  more  perhaps  that  she 
did  not  wish  Ashley  to  sell  ribbons  or  to  make  money. 
She  was  touched  with  a  culture  of  which  Sir  James  did 
not  dream ;  the  culture  was  in  danger  of  producing  fas- 
tidiousness. Ashley  was  precious  in  her  life  because  he 
did  not  sell  ribbons,  because  he  thought  nothing  or  too 
little  of  money,  because  he  was  poor.  The  children  of 
the  amassers  are  often  squanderers.  Alice  was  no 
squanderer,  but  she  felt  that  enough  money  had  been 
made,  enough  ribbons  sold.  With  a  new  aim  and  a  new 
outlook  life  would  turn  sweet  again.  And  she  hated 
the  thought  that  to  Ashley  she  meant  ribbons.  She  did 
not  fear  that  he  would  make  love  to  her  merely  for  her 
money's  sake ;  but  the  money  would  chink  in  her  pocket 
and  the  ribbons  festoon  about  her  gown ;  if  she  went  to 
him,  she  would  like  to  leave  all  that  behind  and  start  a 
new  existence.  Yet  the  instinct  in  her  made  the  busi- 
ness sacred ;  a  reverence  of  habit  hung  about  it,  caus- 
ing these  dreams  to  seem  unholy  rebels  which  must  not 
shew  their  heads,  and  certainly  could  not  be  mentioned 
in  answer  to  her  father's  look.  Moreover  she  wished 
Ashley  to  shew  himself  a  man  who,  if  he  took  to  ribbon- 
selling,  would  sell  ribbons  well ;  the  qualities  remained 
great  in  her  eyes  though  the  pursuit  had  lost  its  charms. 
At  lunch  they  talked  of  their  guests.  Lady  Kilnorton 
had  pleased  them  all ;  Lord  Bowdon's  presence  was  flat- 
tering to  Lady  Muddock  and  seemed  very  friendly  to 
her  husband.  Minna  Soames,  who  had  come  to  sing  to 
the  party,  was  declared  charming :  hard  if  she  had  not 
been,  since  she  spent  her  life  trying  after  that  verdict ! 
Lady  Muddock  added  that  she  was  very  nice,  and  sang 
only  at  concerts  because  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  stage. 
Ora  Pinsent  excited  more  discussion  and  difference  of 


18     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

opinion,  but  here  also  there  was  a  solid  foundation  of 
agreement.  They  had  all  felt  the  gulf  between  them 
and  her;  she  might  not  be  bad  —  Bob  pretended  that 
he  would  have  heard  all  about  any  scandal  had  there  been 
one  —  but  she  was  hopelessly  alien  from  them.  They 
were  not  sorry  that  Lady  Kilnorton  had  brought  her, 
for  she  had  added  to  the  eclat,  but  they  could  not  feel 
sure  (nor  perhaps  eager  to  be  sure)  that  they  had  secured 
a  permanent  acquaintance,  much  less  a  possible  friend. 
And  then  she  had  told  her  hostess,  quite  casually,  that 
Lord  Bowdon  (whom  she  had  never  met  before)  was 
going  to  drive  her  home.  Lord  Bowdon  was  not  an 
old  man,  Miss  Pinsent  was  quite  a  young  woman;  he 
was  a  lord  and  she  was  an  actress ;  of  suspected  classes, 
both  of  them.  Every  tenet  and  preconception  of  the 
Middle  Period  combined  to  raise  grave  apprehension  in 
Lady  Muddock's  mind.  Sir  James  nodded  assent  over 
his  rice  pudding.  The  son  and  daughter  shared  the 
feeling,  but  with  self-questioning;  was  it  not  narrow, 
asked  Alice,  was  it  not  unbecoming  to  a  man  of  the 
world,  asked  Bob.  But  there  it  was  —  in  brother  and 
sister  both. 

"  Ashley  knows  her,  I  think,"  Alice  remarked. 

"  That  doesn't  prove  anything,"  said  Bob  with  a 
laugh.  Lady  Muddock  looked  a  little  frightened.  "  I 
mean,  Ashley  knows  everybody,"  he  added  rather 
enviously. 

"  Ashley  can  take  care  of  himself,"  the  old  man 
decided,  as  he  pushed  his  plate  away. 

"  Anyhow  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  see  much  of  her," 
said  Alice.  Her  tone  had  some  regret  in  it;  Ora  Pin- 
sent  was  at  least  far  removed  from  the  making  of  money 
and  the  selling  of  ribbons ;  she  was  of  another  world. 

With  this  the  subject  passed;   nobody  made  mention 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS  19 

of  Mr.  Jack  Fenning  because  nobody  (not  even  well- 
informed  Bob)  had  heard  of  him,  and  gloves  had  hidden 
the  unobtrusive  wedding  ring  on  Miss  Pinsent's  finger. 
Indeed  at  all  times  it  lay  in  the  shadow  of  a  very  fine 
sapphire ;  the  fanciful  might  be  pardoned  for  finding  an 
allegory  here. 

The  still  recent  fatigues  of  entertaining  made  Lady 
Muddock  disinclined  to  drive,  and  Alice  went  alone  to 
the  Park  in  the  afternoon.  The  place  was  very  full,  and 
motion  slow  and  interrupted.  Getting  fast-set  in  a 
block,  she  leant  back  resignedly,  wondering  why  in  the 
world  she  had  chosen  this  mode  of  spending  a  summer 
afternoon.  Suddenly  she  heard  her  name  called  and, 
turning  round,  found  a  small  and  unpretentious  victoria 
wedged  close  to  the  carriage.  A  lady  sat  in  the  vic- 
toria; Alice  was  conscious  of  little  more  than  a  large 
hat,  eyes,  and  a  smile ;  when  she  thought  of  the  meet- 
ing later  on,  she  was  surprised  to  find  herself  ignorant 
of  what  Ora  Pinsent  was  wearing.  But  the  smile  she 
remembered ;  it  was  so  cordial  and  radiant,  a  smile  quite 
without  reserve,  seeming  to  express  what  was,  for  the 
instant  at  least,  the  whole  and  unclouded  happiness  of  a 
human  being.     Thus  to  smile  is  in  itself  a  talent. 

"  Miss  Pinsent !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  flutter  for  which 
she  had  not  time  to  rebuke  herself. 

"  I  wasn't  quite  sure  it  was  you,"  Ora  explained. 
"  But  I  thought  I'd  risk  it.  Isn't  it  dull?"  Her  elo- 
quent hands  accused  the  whole  surroundings. 

"This  block's  so  tiresome,"  observed  Alice;  she  felt 
the  obviousness  of  the  remark. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  whether  we  move  or  not.  I  mean 
driving  alone.  But  perhaps  you  do  it  from  choice.  I 
don't.     But  he  didn't  come." 

Alice  looked  at  her  and  laughed. 


20     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  I  should  have  thought  he  would,"  she  said.  She 
began  to  be  amused. 

'"  Yes,  wouldn't  you?  "  asked  Ora.     "  But  he  didn't." 

"  I  'm  very  sorry." 

"  Oh,  I  've  stopped  wanting  him  now.  It 's  quite 
unsafe  not  to  keep  appointments  with  me.  You  miss 
the  time  when  you  're  wanted !  Have  you  seen  Irene 
Kilnorton  anywhere?" 

"  Not  since  yesterday." 

There  was  a  pause.  Some  way  ahead  a  carriage 
crawled  a  few  paces  on ;  the  pack  was  going  to  break 
up.  Ora's  victoria  got  a  start  first ;  as  it  moved  she 
turned  her  head  over  her  shoulder,  saying : 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  like  to  come  and  see  me 
some  day?" 

Alice  said  that  she  would  be  delighted,  but  she  felt 
that  her  expression  of  pleasure  in  the  prospect  sounded 
purely  conventional.  In  reality  she  was  amazed,  in- 
clined to  be  apprehensively  gratified,  and  certainly 
interested. 

"  Then  do,"  smiled  Miss  Pinsent  as  she  was  borne 
away. 

"  I  wonder  who  didn't  come  !  "  said  Alice  to  herself, 
smiling;  but  the  next  moment  criticism  revived.  "  How 
curious  she  should  tell  me  about  it !  "  she  reflected. 
"  She  doesn't  know  me  a  bit."  Frown  and  smile  stood 
on  her  face  together. 

The  way  was  cleared.  Alice  accomplished  another 
round  at  a  fairly  quick  trot.  Then  she  saw  Miss  Pin- 
sent's  victoria  again.  This  time  Miss  Pinsent  was  not 
alone ;  the  victoria  stood  by  the  path  and  Lord  Bowdon's 
foot  was  on  the  step.  He  was  talking  to  Ora ;  Ora  leant 
back,  looking  past  him  with  an  expression  of  utter  inat- 
tention.    Was  he  the  man  who  didn't  come?     Or  was 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS  21 

she  inattentive  because  he  was  not?  Alice  gave  up  the 
riddle;  she  had  a  sudden  consciousness  that  generalisa- 
tions which  had  hitherto  seemed  tolerably  trustworthy 
might  prove  most  fallacious  if  applied  to  Ora  Pinsent. 
But  there  was  a  distinct  regret  in  her  mind  when  she 
lost  sight  of  the  little  victoria  with  the  big  man  by  its 
step.  She  had  her  invitation ;  but  in  retrospect  her 
invitation   seemed  woefully  vague. 

Ashley  dropped  in  to  dinner  that  evening,  pleasant 
and  talkative  as  usual,  but  rather  less  alert  and  a  trifle 
absent  in  manner.  However  he  had  good  news;  he 
was  to  be  secretary  to  Lord  Bowdon's  Commission;  it 
would  last  a  long  while,  was  probably  meant  to  last  as 
long  as  the  Government  did  (the  grounds  for  this  im- 
pression would  be  tedious  to  relate,  and  open  to  con- 
troversy), and  would  enable  him  to  pay  bills. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  Alice,  "  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  not  to  be  able  to  pay  a  bill?" 

"  I  hardly  ever  have  one,"  she  said ;  "  they  're  just 
sent  in  to  father." 

"  It  must  be  rather  slow  never  to  be  hard-up,"  he 
remarked;  he  hardly  meant  what  he  said,  and  was 
quite  unaware  how  true  his  remark  seemed  to  Alice 
Muddock.  "  Then  you  never  write  cheques?  "  he  went 
on. 

"  For  charity  I  do." 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  base  use  of  a  cheque  book  !  " 

Lady  Muddock  happened  to  hear  this  observation. 
She  had  failed  to  accustom  herself  to  remarks  not  meant 
for  literal  acceptance;  the  Middle  Period  treats  lan- 
guage seriously. 

"We  all  ought  to  give  a  certain  proportion,"  she 
remarked.  "Oughtn't  we,  James?"  But  Sir  James 
had  gone  to  sleep. 


22     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

As  Ashley  sat  and  talked  lightly  about  the  secretary- 
ship, his  shifts  to  live  comfortably  beyond  his  means, 
and  the  welcome  help  Lord  Bowdon  had  afforded,  Alice 
felt  a  surprise  at  him  growing  in  her.  Had  she  been 
placed  as  he  was,  she  might  not  have  married  for  money, 
but  she  would  inevitably  have  thought  of  such  a  step, 
probably  have  had  a  severe  struggle  about  it,  and  cer- 
tainly have  enjoyed  a  sense  of  victory  in  putting  it  on 
one  side.  The  money-taint  had  bitten  so  far  into  her ; 
she  could  disregard  wealth  but  could  not  forget  it.  She 
hardly  understood  Ashley;  she  felt  curious  to  know 
what  he  would  say  if  she  stood  before  him  and  offered 
herself  and  her  thousands  freely,  unconditionally,  the 
money  without  the  ribbons.  Did  he  know  that  she 
was  ready  to  do  it  ?  Did  he  want  her?  There  was 
an  only  half-occupied  look  in  his  eyes.  She  never 
expected  to  see  admiration  gleam  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
but  she  often,  indeed  generally,  excited  interest  and 
chained  attention.  To-night  there  was  hardly  atten- 
tion, certainly  not  whole-hearted  engrossed  interest. 
All  at  once,  for  the  first  time  in  her  simple  sincere 
life,  there  came  over  her  a  bitter  regret  that  she  was 
not  pretty.  It  was  a  small  thing  to  be;  small  in  itself, 
very  small  in  the  little  changes  of  shape  and  colour 
that  made  it.  But  how  rich  in  consequences !  Yes, 
she  meditated,  how  unfairly  rich ! 

Pressed  by  thought,  she  found  herself  lapsing  into 
long  silences.  She  started  another  line  of  talk,  but  the 
new  topic  sprang  from  the  previous  meditation. 

"  I  met  Miss  Pinsent  in  the  Park  to-day,"  she  said. 
"  She  was  looking  so  beautiful.  And  what  do  you 
think,  she  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her !  I  was  very 
flattered." 

Ashley  smiled  as  he  observed  : 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS  23 

"  She  's  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her  too." 

"  Shall  you  go?  "  asked  Alice,  with  a  grave  interest. 

She  was  puzzled  at  the  heartiness  of  his  laugh  over 
her  question. 

"  Great  heavens,  of  course  I  shall  go,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing still. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  Alice,  there  isn't  a  man  in  London 
who  wouldn't  go." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  said  in  a  disappointed,  almost  irri- 
table tone.  She  had  somehow  expected  a  better  expla- 
nation than  lay  in  that,  something  that  might  apply  to 
herself,  to  a  girl.  She  was  even  sure  that  there  ought 
to  be  something  more  about  Miss  Pinsent,  that  it  was  a 
man's  fault  if  he  saw  only  what  all  men  must  see.  Her 
tone  did  not  escape  the  quick  wit  of  her  companion. 

"  You  must  see  that  she  's  tremendously  interesting?  " 
he  said.  "  Lady  Kilnorton  says  that  Ora  Pinsent 's  the 
most  interesting  person  in  the  world  —  except  one." 

"  Except  who?  " 

"  Her  husband,"  he  answered,  laughing  again.  "You 
look  surprised.  Oh,  yes,  he  exists.  His  name 's  Fen- 
ning." 

"  She—  she  's  married?  "  Alice  was  leaning  forward 
now ;  here  was  another  problem. 

"  Incredible,  but  true.  You  may  let  Bob  meet  her 
without  the  least  danger  of  spoiling  that  great  match 
he's  going  to  make." 

"  I  'd  no  idea  she  was  married." 

Ashley  was  obviously  amused  at  her  wonder,  per- 
haps at  the  importance  she  attached  to  the  circumstance 
which  he  had  brought  to  her  knowledge. 

"  Lady  Kilnorton  will  have  it  that  he  must  be  a  re- 
markable man,"  he  went  on.      "  But  it  doesn't  follow  in 


24     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

the  least,  you  know,  rather  the  contrary.  Some  women 
have  unimpeachable  taste  in  everything  except  marriage  ; 
or  perhaps  we  must  all  nave  our  share  of  the  ordinary, 
and  they  take  theirs  out  in  their  husbands.  Anyhow, 
he  's  at  the  other  end  of  the  world  somewhere." 

They  talked  a  little  while  longer  about  Ora,  Alice  in- 
cidentally mentioning  Bowdon's  appearance  by  the  step 
of  the  victoria.  Then  AsHley  said  good-night,  and 
started  to  walk  home  to  his  rooms  in  one  of  the  streets 
which  run  down  from  the  Strand  to  the  Thames  Em- 
bankment. Here  he  dwelt  humbly,  commanding  mod- 
est comforts  and,  if  he  craned  his  neck,  a  sidelong  view 
of  a  bit  of  the  river  by  Charing  Cross  bridge.  As  he 
walked,  he  was  pleasantly  and  discursively  thoughtful. 
His  evening  had  disposed  him  to  reflexion  on  the  very 
various  types  of  people  who  inhabited  the  world  and 
flocked,  one  and  all,  to  London.  He  knew  many  sorts; 
yet  within  the  limits  of  his  acquaintance  the  Muddocks 
were  peculiar.  And  now,  right  at  the  other  end  of  the 
scale,  came  t]jis  Miss  Pinsent.  He  thought  about  Miss 
Pinsent  for  a  little  while,  and  then  drifted  idly  into  a 
trivial  classification  of  women  according  to  their  external 
advantages.  Perhaps  he  had  dimly  discerned  and 
caught  something  of  Alice  Muddock's  train  of  ideas. 
There  were  those  beautiful  to  all,  those  pretty  to  some, 
those  plain  to  most.  Miss  Pinsent,  Lady  Kilnorton, 
Alice  Muddock,  were  the  instances  on  which  his  general- 
ities depended.  Superficial  as  the  dividing  principle  was, 
he  gained  a  hint  of  what  had  come  home  to  Alice  while 
he  talked  to  her,  of  the  immense  difference  it  made  to 
the  persons  divided.  (That  it  made  an  immense  differ- 
ence to  him  was  in  no  way  such  a  discovery  as  needed 
midnight  meditation.)  To  them  the  difference  would 
surely  become   more   than  a  source  of  greater   or  less 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS  25 

homage,  attention,  pleasure,  or  excitement.  These  im- 
mediate results  must  so  influence  and  affect  life  as  to 
make  the  woman  in  the  end  really  a  different  being,  a 
different  inner  as  well  as  a  different  outer  creature,  from 
what  she  would  have  been  had  she  occupied  a  place  in 
another  class  than  her  own.  It  would  be  curious  to  take 
twin  souls  (he  allowed  himself  the  hypothesis  of  souls), 
put  them  into  diverse  kinds  of  bodies,  leave  them  there 
ten  years,  from  eighteen  to  twenty-eight,  say,  then  take 
them  out  and  record  the  observed  variations.  But  that 
was  hopeless;  the  experimental  method,  admirable  for 
all  sorts  of  dull  subjects,  broke  down  just  where  it  would 
become  of  absorbing  interest. 

In  Pall  Mall  he  met  Lord  Bowdon  coming  out  of 
the  Reform  Club.  Bowdon's  family  had  always  been 
Whigs ;  people  might  argue  that  historical  parties  had 
changed  their  policies  and  their  principles ;  Bowdon  was 
not  to  be  caught  by  any  such  specious  reasoning.  The 
Liberals  were  heirs  to  the  Whigs ;  he  was  heir  to  his 
fathers;  his  conservative  temperament  preserved  his 
Liberal  principles.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  be  occupied 
by  such  matters  to-night.  He  caught  Ashley  by  the 
arm,  turned  him  round  the  Athenaeum  corner,  and  be- 
gan to  stroll  gently  along  towards  the  steps.  Ashley 
thanked  him  again  for  procuring  him  the  Secretaryship ; 
Bowdon's  only  answer  was  to  nod  absently.  What  Alice 
Muddock  had  told  him  recurred  to  Ashley's  mind. 

"  I  hear  you  had  an  audience  in  the  Park  to-day,"  he 
said,  laughing.     "  Her  Majesty  distinguished  you?  " 

"  I  did  a  most  curious  thing,"  said  Bowdon  slowly.  "  I 
had  an  appointment  to  drive  with  her.  I  didn't  go. 
Half-an-hour  later  I  walked  up  to  the  Park  and  looked 
for  her  till  I  found  her.  Doesn't  that  strike  you  as  a 
very  silly  proceeding?  " 


26     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Very,"  said  Ashley  with  a  laugh. 

"In  a  man  of  forty-three?"  pursued  Bowdon  with  a 
whimsical  gravity. 

"  Worse  and  worse.  But  where  do  you  put  the  folly, 
in  missing  the  appointment  or —  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  the  combination  !  The  combination  makes  it 
hopeless.     You  said  you  knew  her,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  shouldn't  miss  the  appointment." 

Ashley  had  long  been  aware  of  his  companion's  kind- 
ness for  him,  one  of  those  partialities  that  arise  with- 
out much  apparent  reason  but  are  of  unquestionable 
genuineness.  But  Bowdon  was  considered  reserved, 
and  this  little  outbreak  of  self-exposure  was  a  surprise. 
It  shewed  that  the  man  was  at  least  playing  with  a  new 
emotion ;  if  the  emotion  grew  strong  the  play  might 
turn  to  earnest.  Moreover  Bowdon  must  know  that  his 
confidant  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Lady  Kilnorton's. 
Bowdon  stopped  suddenly,  standing  still  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  looking  full  in  Ashley's  face. 

"  Don't  think  I  'm  going  to  make  a  fool  of  myself, 
my  boy,"  he  said  with  remarkable  emphasis  and  energy. 
"Good-night;"  and,  hailing  a  cab,  he  was  off  in  an 
instant. 

Ashley  properly  considered  his  friend's  last  remark 
an  indication  that  he  was  feeling  rather  inclined  to, 
and  just  possibly  might,  make  or  try  to  make  (for  often 
failure  is  salvation)  a  fool  of  himself.  The  man  of 
unshaken  sobriety  of  purpose  needs  no  such  protests. 
Ashley  strolled  on  to  his  rooms,  decidedly  amused, 
somehow  also  a  little  vexed.  Nothing  had  happened 
except  a  further  and  needless  proof  that  he  had  been 
right  in  putting  Ora  in  the  first  division  of  his  classi- 
fication. The  vexation,  then,  remained  unaccounted 
for,    and    it   was   not    until   he    had   reached    home,  lit 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS  27 

his  pipe,  mixed  his  whiskey  and  water,  and  settled  in 
his  arm-chair,  that  he  discovered  that  he  was  a  little 
annoyed  just  because  Lord  Bowdon  was  apparently 
afraid  of  making  a  fool  of  himself.  It  was  a  thin"- 
that  Bowdon  or  any  other  man  had  a  perfect  right  to 
do,  so  far  as  the  rest  of  the  world  was  concerned.  This 
sounded  like  a  platitude ;  Ashley  was  surprised  to  find 
in  his  own  soul  an  indefinite  but  not  weak  opposition 
to  it.  The  instinct  of  exclusive  possession  was  stirring 
in  him,  that  resentment  of  intrusion  which  is  the  fore- 
runner of  a  claim  to  property.  Well,  he  was  not  forty- 
three  but  just  thirty.  His  theory  of  life  did  not  forbid 
a  certain  amount  of  making  a  fool  of  himself;  his 
practice  had  included  a  rather  larger  quantity.  Pertur- 
bation had  been  the  ruling  factor  in  Bowdon,  in  Ashley 
a  pleasurable  anticipation  was  predominant.  In  his 
case  there  were  no  very  obvious  reasons  why  he  should 
not  make  a  fool  of  himself  again,  if  he  were  so  dis- 
posed ;  for,  dealing  dispassionately  with  the  situation 
and  with  his  own  standards,  he  could  not  treat  this  Jack 
Fenning  as  a  very  obvious  reason.  He  went  to  bed 
with  a  vague  sense  of  satisfaction ;  the  last  few  days 
had  brought  to  birth  a  new  element  in  life,  or  at  least 
a  new  feature  of  this  season.  It  was  altogether  too 
soon  to  set  about  measuring  the  dimensions  of  the  fresh 
arrival  or  settling  to  what  it  might  or  might  not  grow. 

His  anticipation  would  have  been  much  heightened 
and  the  development  of  his  interest  quickened  had  he 
been  able  to  see  what  was  at  this  time  happening  to  the 
lady  who  had  made  so  abrupt  and  resolute  an  entry  into 
his  thoughts  as  well  as  into  Lord  Bowdon's.  Her  dis- 
tress would  have  been  sun  and  water  to  the  growth  of  his 
feelings.  For  Mr.  Sidney  Hazlewood,  an  accomplished 
comedian  and  Ora  Pinsent's  Manager,  had  urged  that 


28     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

she  should  try,  and  indeed  must  force  herself,  to  regard 
a  certain  business  arrangement  from  a  purely  business 
point  of  view.  To  Ora,  still  charged  with  the  emotions 
of  her  performance  in  addition  to  her  own  natural  and 
large  stock  of  emotions,  this  suggestion  seemed  mere 
brutality,  oblivious  of  humanity,  and  dictated  solely  by 
a  ruthless  and  unhallowed  pursuit  of  gain.  So  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  a  weary  wrinkle  knitted  itself  on  Mr. 
Hazlewood's  brow.  Lady  Kilnorton  had  been  blaming 
herself  forjudging  genius  from  the  stand  of  common- 
sense  ;  Mr.  Hazlewood  did  not  theorise  about  the  matter ; 
that  eloquent  wrinkle  was  his  sole  protest  against  the 
existence  and  the  ways  of  genius.  The  wrinkle  having 
failed  of  effect,  he  observed  that  an  agreement  was  an 
agreement  and  spoke,  as  a  man  who  contemplates  regret- 
table necessities,  of  his  solicitor.  Ora  defied  Mr.  Hazle- 
wood, the  law,  and  the  world,  and  went  home  still  in 
tears.  She  was  not  really  happy  again  until  she  had 
got  into  her  dressing-gown,  when  quite  suddenly  she 
chanced  on  the  idea  that  Mr.  Hazlewood  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  for  himself.  Then  she  began  to  laugh 
merrily  at  the  scene  which  had  passed  between  them. 
"  He  's  very  stupid,  but  he  likes  me  and  he  's  a  good 
old  creature,"  she  ended  in  a  charitable  way. 


CHAPTER   III 

AN   ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY 

ELIZABETH  Aurora  Pinsent ;  that 's  it.  But 
Elizabeth  was  too  solemn,  and  Betty  was  too 
familiar,  and  Aurora  too  absurd.     So  I  'm  just  Ora." 

Lord  Bowdon  nodded  gravely. 

"  And  I  think,"  she  went  on,  lying  back  on  the  sofa, 
"  that  the  world  's  rather  dull,  and  that  you  're  rather  like 
the  world  this  afternoon." 

He  did  not  dispute  the  point.  A  man  who  wants  to 
make  love,  but  is  withheld  by  the  sense  that  he  ought 
not,  is  at  his  dullest.  Bowdon's  state  was  this  or  even 
worse.  Ora  was  a  friend  of  Irene  Kilnorton's ;  how 
much  had  she  guessed,  observed,  or  been  told?  Would 
she  think  loyalty  a  duty  in  herself  and  disloyalty  in  him 
a  reproach?  That  would  almost  certainly  be  her  mood 
unless  she  liked  him  very  much ;  and  she  gave  no  sign 
of  such  a  liking.  On  all  grounds  he  was  clear  that  he 
had  better  go  away  at  once  and  not  come  back  again. 
He  thought  first  of  Irene  Kilnorton,  then  of  his  own 
peace  and  interest,  lastly  of  Mr.  Jack  Fenning;  but  it 
must  be  stated  to  his  credit  that  he  did  think  quite 
perceptibly  of  Jack  Fenning.  Yet  he  did  not  go  away 
immediately. 

"You  live  all  alone  here?"  he  asked,  looking  round 
the  bright  little  room. 

"  Yes,  I  can,  you  see.  That's  the  advantage  of  being 
married." 


30    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  I  never  looked  at  marriage  in  that  light  before." 

"  No,"  she  laughed.  "  You  've  not  looked  at  it  in 
any  light,  you  know ;   only  from  the  outer  darkness." 

As  his  eyes  rested  on  her  lying  there  in  graceful 
repose,  he  felt  a  grudge  against  the  way  fate  was  treat- 
ing him.  He  wished  he  were  ten  or  fifteen  years 
younger;  he  wished  he  had  nothing  to  lose;  he  wished 
he  had  no  conscience.  Given  these  desirable  things,  he 
believed  that  he  could  break  down  this  indifference  and 
banish  this  repose.  Ora  had  done  nothing  to  create 
such  a  belief;  it  grew  out  of  his  own  sturdy  and  usually 
justifiable  self-confidence. 

"  Have  you  a  conscience?  "  he  asked  her  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  "  afterwards." 

"  That 's  a  harmless  variety,"  he  said  wistfully. 

"  Tiresome,  though,"  she  murmured  with  her  eyes 
upturned  to  the  ceiling  as  though  she  had  forgotten 
his  presence.  "  Only,  you  see,  something  else  happens 
soon  and  then  you  don't  think  any  more  about  it." 
Ora  seemed  glad  that  the  cold  wind  of  morality  was 
thus  tempered. 

Such  a  remedy  was  not  for  the  solid-minded  man: 
he  did  think  more  about  it,  notwithstanding  that  many 
things  happened;  and  his  was  not  merely  the  harm- 
less variety  of  conscience.  Ora  nestled  lower  on  her 
cushions,  sighed  and  closed  her  eyes;  she  did  not 
treat  him  with  ceremony,  if  any  comfort  lay  in  that. 
He  rose,  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out.  He 
felt  intolerably  absurd,  but  the  perception  of  his  ab- 
surdity did  not  help  him  much.  Again  he  complained 
of  fate.  This  thing  had  come  just  when  such  things 
should  cease  to  come,  just  also  when  another  thing  had 
begun  to  seem  so  pleasant,  so  satisfactory,  so  almost 
settled.     He  was  ashamed  of  himself;   as  he  stood  there 


ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY     31 

he  regretted  his  midnight  confidence  to  Ashley  Mead 
a  fortnight  before.  Since  then  he  had  made  no  con- 
fidences to  Ashley ;  he  had  not  told  him  how  often  he 
came  to  this  house,  nor  how  often  he  wished  to  come. 
Ora  Pinsent's  name  had  not  been  mentioned  between 
them,  although  they  had  met  several  times  over  the 
initial  business  of  launching  their  Commission. 

He  turned  round  and  found  her  eyes  on  him.  She 
began  to  laugh,  sprang  up,  ran  across  the  room,  laid  a 
hand  lightly  on  his  sleeve,  and  looked  in  his  face,  shak- 
ing her  head  with  an  air  of  determination. 

"  You  must  either  go,  or  be  a  little  more  amusing," 
she  said.  "  What 's  the  matter?  Oh,  I  know  !  You  're 
in  love  !  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  admitted  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  Not  with  me,  though  !  " 

"  You  're  sure  of  that?  Nothing  would  make  you 
doubt  it?" 

"Well,  I  thought  it  was  Irene  Kilnorton,"  she 
answered;  her  eyes  expressed  interest  and  a  little 
surprise. 

"  So  it  was ;   at  least  I  thought  so  too,"  said   Bowdon. 

"Well,  if  you  think  so  enough,  it 's  all  right,"  said  Ora 
with  a  laugh. 

"  But  I  'm  inclined  to  think  differently  now." 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  think  differently,  if  I  were  you,"  she 
murmured.  "  Irene's  so  charming  and  clever.  She'd 
just  suit  you." 

"  You  're  absolutely  right,"  said  Bowdon. 

"Then  why  don't  you?"  She  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  and  he  met  her  gaze ;  a  slight  tint  of  colour 
came  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  curved  in  amusement. 
"  Oh,  what  nonsense !  "  she  cried  a  moment  later  and 
drew  back  from  him  till  she  leant  against  the  opposite 


32     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

shutter  and  stood  there,  smiling  at  him.  The  next 
moment  she  went  on :  "  It  is  quite  nonsense,  you 
know." 

Lord  Bowdon  thought  for  a  moment  before  he  an- 
swered her. 

"  Nonsense  is  not  the  same  as  nothing,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"You're  not  serious  about  it?"  she  asked  with  a 
passing  appearance  of  alarm.  "  But  of  course  you 
aren't."     She  began  to  laugh  again. 

He  was  relieved  to  find  that  he  had  betrayed  nothing 
more  decisive  than  an  inclination  to  flirt.  It  would  be 
an  excellent  thing  to  sail  off  under  cover  of  that;  she 
would  not  be  offended,  he  would  be  safe. 

"  Tragically  serious,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  !  "  she  said.  Then  she  grew  grave, 
frowned  a  little  and  looked  down  into  the  street.  "  You 
talk  rather  like  Jack  used  to.  You  reminded  me  of  him 
for  an  instant,"  she  remarked.  "Though  you're  not 
like  him  really,  of  course." 

"  Your  husband?  "  His  tone  had  surprise  in  it;  she 
had  never  mentioned  Jack  before  ;  both  the  moment  and 
the  manner  of  her  present  reference  to  him  seemed 
strange. 

"  Yes.  You  never  met  him,  did  you?  He  used  to  be 
about  London  five  or  six  years  ago." 

"  No,  I  never  saw  him.     Where  is  he  now?  " 

A  shrug  of  her  shoulders  and  a  slight  smile  gave  her 
answer. 

"  Why  did  he  go  away  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  thousand  reasons  !  It  doesn't  matter.  I  liked 
him,  though,  once." 

"  Do  you  like  him  now?  " 

A  moment  more  of  gravity  was  followed  by  a  sudden 


ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY    33 

smile ;   her  eyes  sparkled  again  and  she  laughed,  as  she 
answered, 

"No,  not  just  now,  thank  you,  Lord  Bowdon.  What 
queer  questions  you  ask,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  The  answers  interest  me." 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  should." 

"  Don't  you?" 

"  I  mean  I  don't  see  how  they  ought." 

"  Quite  so." 

"  You  're  really  getting  a  little  bit  more  amusing,"  said 
Ora  with  a  grateful  look. 

He  felt  an  impulse  to  be  brutal  with  her,  to  do,  in 
another  sphere  of  action,  very  much  what  Mr.  Hazle- 
wood  had  done  when  he  insisted  that  a  business  arrange- 
ment must  be  regarded  in  a  business-like  way.  Suppose 
he  told  her  that  questions  of  morals,  with  their  cognate 
problems,  ought  to  be  regarded  in  a  moral  way?  He 
would  perhaps  be  a  strange  preacher,  but  surely  she 
would  forget  that  in  amazement  at  the  novelty  of  his 
doctrine ! 

"  How  old  are  you?  "  he  asked  her,  aghast  this  time 
at  his  question  but  quite  unable  to  resist  it. 

She  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment,  smiled,  and  an- 
swered simply, 

"  Twenty-seven  last  December." 

He  was  remorseful  at  having  extracted  an  answer,  but 
he  bowed  to  her  as  he  said, 

"  You  've  paid  me  a  high  compliment.  You  're  right, 
though ;   it  wasn't  impertinence." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  're  all  right  in  that  way,"  she  murmured 
with  a  careless  cordiality.  "  But  why  did  you  want  to 
know?" 

44 1  want  to  know  all  about  you,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

3 


34     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Again  she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  growing  grave 
as  she  looked.  Then  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm 
again  and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  pleading  coaxing 
smile. 

"  Don't,"  she  said. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Lord  Bowdon 
took  her  hand,  kissed  it,  smiled  at  her,  and  asked  a  pro- 
saic question. 

"  Where  's  my  hat?  "  said  he. 

But  that  prosaic  question  made  it  impossible  to  sail 
off  under  cover  of  an  inclination  to  flirt ;  it  was  not  at 
all  in  that  manner ;  it  lacked  the  colour,  the  flourish  and 
the  show.  As  he  walked  away,  Bowdon  was  conscious 
that  whatever  happened  to  the  affair,  good  or  evil, 
whether  it  went  on  or  stopped,  it  must  be  stamped  with 
a  certain  genuineness.  It  could  not  pass  at  once  from 
his  thoughts ;  he  could  not  suppose  that  it  would  be  dis- 
missed immediately  from  hers. 

That  he  occupied  her  attention  for  a  little  while  after 
he  went  away  happened  to  be  the  case,  although  it  was 
by  no  means  the  certain  result  he  imagined.  A  mind 
for  the  moment  vacant  of  new  impressions  allowed  her 
to  wonder,  rather  idly,  why  she  had  said  "  Don't  "  so 
soon;  he  had  done  nothing  to  elicit  so  direct  a  prohibi- 
tion; it  had  put  a  stop  to  a  conversation  only  just 
becoming  interesting,  still  far  from  threatening  inconven- 
ience. Perhaps  she  was  surprised  to  find  her  injunction 
so  effective.  She  had  said  the  word,  she  supposed,  be- 
cause she  was  not  much  taken  with  him;  or  rather 
because  she  liked  him  very  definitely  in  one  way,  and 
very  definitely  not  in  another,  and  so  had  been  impelled 
to  deal  fairly  with  him.  Besides  he  had  for  a  moment 
reminded  her  of  Jack  Fenning;  that  also  might  have 
something   to    do  with   it.      The    remembrance  of  her 


ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY    35 

husband's  love-making  was  not  pleasant  to  her.  It  re- 
called the  greatest  of  all  the  blunders  into  which  her 
trick  of  sudden  likings  had  led  her,  the  one  apparently 
irrevocable  blunder.  It  brought  back  also  the  memory 
of  old  delusions  which  had  made  the  blunder  seem  some- 
thing so  very  different  at  the  time  it  was  committed. 
She  walked  about  the  room  for  a  few  minutes  with  a  dole- 
ful look,  her  lips  dragged  down  and  her  eyes  woeful. 
It  was  only  five  ;  she  did  not  dine  till  six.  She  was  sup- 
posed to  rest  this  hour ;  if  resting  meant  thinking  of  Jack 
Fenning  and  Lord  Bowdon  andof  the  general  harshness  of 
the  world,  she  would  have  none  of  it.  It  occurred  to  her, 
almost  as  an  insult,  that  here  was  an  hour  in  which  she 
was  at  leisure  and  yet  nobody  seemed  to  desire  her 
society ;  such  treatment  was  strange  and  uncomplimen- 
tary. 

A  ring  at  the  bell  scattered  her  gloom. 

"  That  must  be  somebody  amusing !  "  she  cried, 
clasping  her  hands  in  the  joyful  confidence  that  fate 
had  taken  a  turn.     "  I  wonder  who  it  is  !  " 

The  visitor  thus  favoured  by  a  prejudice  of  approba- 
tion proved  to  be  Ashley  Mead.  He  had  come  once 
before,  a  week  ago ;  three  days  back  Ora  had  in  her 
own  mind  accused  him  of  neglect  and  then  charitably 
congratulated  him  on  indifference.  Now  she  ran  to  him 
as  though  he  were  the  one  person  in  the  world  she  wished 
to  see. 

"  How  charming  of  you  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  was  bored 
to  death.  I  do  like  people  who  come  at  the  right 
time !  " 

Ashley  held  her  hand  for  a  moment  in  sheer  pleasure 
at  the  feel  of  it;  they  sat  down,  she  again  on  her  sofa, 
he  in  a  low  chair  close  by. 

"  Tea?"  she  said. 


36     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Goodness,  no.  Don't  move  from  where  you  are, 
Miss  Pinsent.     I  met  Lord  Bowdon  walking  away." 

"  I  sent  him  away." 

"  What  delightful  presentiments  you  have  !  " 

"  Indeed  I  'd  no  idea  that  you  'd  come.  I  don't  think 
he  wanted  to  stay,  though."  She  smiled  meditatively. 
Lord  Bowdon's  prompt  acceptance  of  her  "  Don't " 
seemed  now  to  take  on  a  humorous  air;  his  hesitation 
contrasted  so  sharply  with  the  confident  readiness  of 
her  new  visitor. 

"  I  've  come  on  business,"  said  Ashley. 

"  Business?"  she  echoed,  with  an  unpleasant  reminis- 
cence of  Mr.  Sidney  Hazlewood  and  his  views  as  to  the 
nature  of  an  agreement. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  organise  something." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't.  I  hate  all  that  sort  of  thing.  It's 
not  a  bazaar,  is  it?  " 

"  No.  Perhaps  we  might  call  it  a  fete.  It 's  a  day  in 
the  country,  Miss  Pinsent." 

"  Oh,  I  know!     Children!    You  mean  those  children?" 

He  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  her  before 
he  replied.  She  seemed  a  little  hurt  and  regretful,  as 
though  his  visit  were  not  proving  so  pleasant  as  she  had 
expected;  a  visit  should  be  paid,  as  virtue  should  be 
practised,  for  its  own  sake. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Not  those  children.  These 
children." 

She  took  an  instant  to  grasp  the  proposal ;  then  her 
eyes  signified  her  understanding  of  it;  but  she  did  not 
answer  it. 

"  Why  not?  "  he  urged,  leaning  forward. 

She  broke  into  a  light  laugh. 

"  There's  no  reason  why  not  —  " 

"Ah,  that's  right!" 


ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY    37 

"  Except  that  I  'm  not  sure  I  want  to,"  continued 
Ora.  She  put  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  with  a  crit- 
ical air.  "  I  wonder  if  you  'd  amuse  me  for  a  whole 
day,"  she  said. 

"  You  quite  mistake  my  point  of  view,"  he  replied, 
smiling.  "  I  never  expected  to  amuse  you.  I  want 
you  to  amuse  me.     I  'm  quite  selfish  about  it." 

"  That 's  just  making  use  of  me,"  she  objected.  "  I 
don't  think  I  was  created  only  to  amuse  you,  you 
know." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  let  me  have  the  amusement  first. 
The  trouble  '11  come  soon  enough." 

"Will  it?     Then  why  —  " 

"  Oh,  you  understand  that  well  enough  really,  Miss 
Pinsent." 

"  What  would  that  nice  serious  girl  you  're  going  to 
marry  say  if  she  heard  of  our  outing?" 

"  I  haven't  received  the  news  of  my  engagement 
yet." 

"  Irene  says  you  're  certain  to  marry  her." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  she  doesn't  say  I  've  done  it  yet, 
does  she?" 

"No,"  admitted  Ora,  smiling. 

"And  that's  the  point,  isn't  it?  Will  you  come  on 
Sunday?" 

Sunday  had  looked  rather  grey;  there  was  nothing 
but  a  lunch  party,  to  meet  a  Dean  who  thought  that  the 
stage  might  be  made  an  engine  for  good,  and  therefore 
wished  to  be  introduced  to  Miss  Pinsent.  Oh,  and 
there  was  a  dinner  to  celebrate  somebody's  birthday  — 
she  had  forgotten  whose.  Yes,  Sunday  was  quite  a  free 
day.  The  sun  shontf  here;  it  would  shine  merrily  in 
the  country.     In  short  she  wanted  to  go. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  mind  trying  to  prevent  you  being 


38     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

bored  for  just  one  day,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  merry 
and  mocking. 

"  That 's  very  kind  of  you,"  observed  Ashley  in  a 
composed  tone.  "I'll  call  for  you  at  eleven  and  carry 
you  off." 

"Where  to?" 

"  I  shall  settle  that.  It 's  entirely  for  my  sake  we  're 
going,  you  know,  so  I  shall  have  my  choice." 

"  It  sounds  as  if  you  might  enjoy  yourself,  Mr.  Mead." 

"Yes,  quite,  doesn't  it?"  he  answered,  laughing. 
Ora  joined  in  his  laugh ;  the  world  was  no  longer  harsh  ; 
Lord  Bowdon  was  nothing ;  there  were  no  more  remi- 
niscences of  the  way  Jack  Fenning  used  to  talk.  There 
was  frolic,  there  was  a  touch  of  adventure,  a  savour  of 
mischief. 

"It  '11  be  rather  fun,"  she  mused  softly,  clasping  her 
hands  on  her  knee. 

Behind  the  man's  restrained  bearing  lay  a  sense  of 
triumph.  He  had  carried  out  his  little  campaign  well. 
He  did  not  look  ahead,  the  success  of  the  hour  served. 
No  doubt  after  that  Sunday  other  things  would  happen 
again,  and  might  even  be  of  importance ;  meanwhile 
except  that  Sunday  there  was  nothing.  Merely  that 
she  came  was  not  all  —  with  her  was  not  even  very 
much.  But  he  knew  that  her  heart  was  eager  to  come, 
and  that  the  Sunday  was  a  joy  to  her  also. 

"It's  dinner-time,"  she  said,  springing  up.  "Go 
away,  Mr.   Mead." 

He  was  as  obedient  as  Bowdon  had  been ;  enough 
had  been  done  for  to-day.  But  a  farewell  may  be  said 
in  many  ways. 

"  Sunday,  then,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  which 
she  had  held  out  to  him  in  her  cordial  fashion.  Lady 
Kilnorton  said  that  Ora  always  seemed  to  expect  to  be 


ARRANGEMENT   FOR   SUNDAY    39 

kissed.  "  Just  manner,  of  course,"  she  would  add,  since 
Ora  was  her  friend. 

"  Yes,  Sunday  —  unless  I  change  my  mind.  I  often 
do." 

"  You  won't  this  time."  The  assertion  had  not  a  shred 
of  question  about  it ;   it  was  positive  and  confident. 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  laughing. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said. 

Bowdon  had  kissed  her  hand,  but  Ashley  did  not  fol- 
low that  example.  They  enjoyed  another  laugh  together, 
and  he  was  laughing  still  as  he  left  her  and  took  his  way 
downstairs. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  she  said,  passing  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
as  she  went  to  get  ready  for  dinner.  She  felt  a  reaction 
from  some  kind  of  excitement;  yet  what  reason  for 
excitement  had  there  been? 

With  regard  to  the  theatre  the  Muddock  family  dis- 
played a  variety  of  practice.  Sir  James  never  went; 
Bob  frequented  with  assiduity  those  houees  where  the 
lighter  forms  of  the  drama  were  presented;  Lady  Mud- 
dock  and  Alice  were  occasional  visitors  at  the  highest 
class  of  entertainment.  Neither  cared  much  about  eve- 
nings so  spent  as  a  rule ;  but  Lady  Muddock,  having 
entertained  Miss  Pinsent,  was  eager  to  see  her  act.  Ora 
was  the  only  member  of  her  profession  whom  Lady 
Muddock  had  met ;  to  be  acquainted  with  one  of  the 
performers  added  a  new  flavour.  Lady  Muddock  felt 
an  increased  importance  in  herself  as  she  looked  round 
the  house ;  there  must  be  a  great  many  people  there 
who  knew  nobody  on  the  stage  ;  she  knew  Miss  Pinsent ; 
she  would  have  liked  the  fact  mentioned,  or  at  any  rate 
to  have  it  get  about  in  some  unobtrusive  way.  Before 
the  first  act  was  over  she  had  fully  persuaded  herself 
that  Ora  had  noticed   her  presence;    she  had  looked 


40     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

twice  quite  directly  at  the  box!  The  little  woman, 
flattered  by  this  wholly  fictitious  recognition,  decided 
audaciously  that  Sir  James'  attitude  towards  the  stage 
was  old-fashioned  and  rather  uncharitable;  everybody 
was  not  bad  on  the  stage ;  she  felt  sure  that  there  were 
exceptions.  Anyhow  it  was  nice  to  know  somebody; 
it  gave  one  a  feeling  of  what  Bob  called  —  she  smiled 
shyly  to  herself —  "  being  in  it."  She  was  very  careful 
never  to  talk  slang  herself,  but  sometimes  it  expressed 
just  what  she  wanted  to  say.  She  pulled  out  her  pink 
silk  sleeves  to  their  fullest  volume  (sleeves  were  large 
then)  and  leant  forward  in  the  box. 

Between  the  acts  Babba  Flint  came  in.  He  was  a 
club  acquaintance  of  Bob's,  and  had  met  the  ladies  of 
the  family  at  a  charity  bazaar.  It  was  a  slender  basis 
for  friendship,  but  Babba  was  not  ceremonious.  Nobody 
knew  why  he  was  called  Babba  (which  was  not  his  name), 
but  he  always  was.  He  was  a  small  fair  man,  very 
smartly  dressed ;  he  seldom  stopped  talking  and  was 
generally  considered  agreeable.  He  talked  now,  and, 
seeing  the  bent  of  Lady  Muddock's  interest,  he  made 
Ora  his  theme.  Lady  Muddock  was  a  little  vexed  to 
find  that  Babba  also  knew  Ora,  and  most  of  her  colleagues 
besides ;  but  there  was  recompense  in  his  string  of 
anecdotes.  Alice  was  silent,  looking  and  wondering  at 
Babba  —  strange  to  be  such  a  person  !  —  and  yet  listen- 
ing to  what  he  was  saying.  Babba  lisped  a  little ;  at 
least  when  he  said  "  Miss  Pinsent,"  the  S's  were  blurred 
and  indistinct.  He  had  met  her  husband  once  a  long 
while  ago ;  "  a  fellow  named  Denning,  no,  Fenning ;  a 
good-looking  fellow."  "A  gentleman?"  Babba  sup- 
posed so,  but  deuced  hard-up  and  not  very  fond  of 
work.  She  led  him  no  end  of  a  life,  Babba  had  heard  ; 
so  at  last  he  bolted  to  America  or  somewhere.     Babba 


ARRANGEMENT  FOR  SUNDAY    41 

expressed  some  surprise  that  Mr.  Fenning  did  not  now 
return  —  he  knew  the  amount  of  Ora's  salary  and  men- 
tioned it  by  way  of  enforcing  this  point  —  and  declared 
that  he  himself  would  put  up  with  a  good  deal  at  the 
hands  of  a  lady  so  prepossessing  as  Miss  Pinsent.  Then 
Lady  Muddock  asked  whether  Miss  Pinsent  were  really 
nice,  and  Babba  said  that  she  wasn't  a  bad  sort  to  meet 
about  the  place  but  (Here  he  broke  into  a  quotation 
from  a  song  popular  in  its  day),  "  You  never  know  what 
happens  downstairs."  Lady  Muddock  tried  to  look  as 
though  she  had  received  information,  and  Babba  with- 
drew, in  order  to  refresh  himself  before  the  rise  of  the 
curtain. 

Ora  played  well  that  night,  indeed  played  Mr.  Hazle- 
wood  off  the  stage,  according  to  his  own  confession  and 
phraseology.  There  was  a  ring  in  her  laugh,  a  rush  in 
her  passion,  a  triumph  in  her  very  walk.  Alice  found 
herself  wondering  whether  what  happened  to  the  woman 
herself  had  much  effect  on  her  acting,  how  complete  or 
incomplete  the  duality  of  person  was,  how  much  was 
put  on  and  put  off  with  the  stage  dresses  and  the  stage 
paint.  But,  after  all,  the  woman  herself  must  be  there 
before  them,  the  real  creature,  full  of  life  and  yet  strain- 
ing her  great  gift  of  it  to  the  full.  Alice  had  heard 
men  described  as  "  living  hard."  That  phrase  generally 
meant  something  foolish  or  disreputable;  but  you  could 
live  hard  without  dissipation  or  folly,  at  least  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  those  words.  You  could  take  all 
there  was  in  every  hour  out  of  it,  put  all  there  was 
of  you  into  every  hour,  taste  everything,  try  every- 
thing, feel  everything,  always  be  doing  or  suffering, 
blot  out  the  uneventful  stretches  of  flat  country  so  wide 
in  most  lives,  for  ever  be  going  up  or  down,  breasting 
hills  or  rattling  over  the  slopes.     It  must  be  strange  to 


42     A    SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

be  like  that  and  to  live  like  that.  Was  it  also  sweet? 
Or  very  sweet  when  not  too  bitter?  And  when  it  was 
very  bitter,  what  came  of  it?  Surely  the  mightiest 
temptation  to  lay  it  all  aside  and  go  to  sleep  ?  Alice 
drew  back  with  a  sudden  sense  of  repulsion,  as  though 
there  were  no  health  or  sanity  in  such  lives  and  such 
people.  Then  she  looked  again  at  the  beautiful  face, 
now  strained  in  sorrow,  with  hands  stretched  out  in  such 
marvellous  appeal,  the  whole  body  a  prayer.  Her  heart 
went  out  in  pity,  and,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  cried  to  go 
out  in  love.  But  she  could  come  to  no  final  conclusion 
about  Ora  Pinsent,  and,  vexed  at  her  failure,  was  think- 
ing when  the  curtain  fell,  "What  does  it  matter  to  me?" 
The  arrangement  for  a  Sunday  in  the  country,  had 
she  known  of  it,  might  have  made  the  question  seem 
less  simple  to  answer. 


CHAPTER   IV 

BY  WAY   OF  PRECAUTION 

FOR  some  days  back  Irene  Kilnorton  had  been  find- 
ing it  difficult  to  have  amiable  thoughts  about  Ora. 
That  they  are  attractive,  that  they  make  a  change  where 
they  come,  that  they  are  apt  to  upset  what  seemed  to  be 
settling  itself  very  comfortably  before  their  arrival,  are 
not  things  which  can  reasonably  be  imputed  as  faults  to 
the  persons  to  whom  they  are  attached  as  incidents ;  but 
neither  do  they  at  all  times  commend  them.  It  could  not 
be  denied  —  at  this  moment  Irene  at  least  could  not  deny 
—  that  there  was  a  wantonness  about  Ora's  intrusions ; 
she  went  where  she  might  have  known  it  was  better  that 
she  should  stay  away,  and  pursued  acquaintances  which 
were  clearly  safer  left  in  an  undeveloped  state.  She  was 
irresponsible,  Lady  Kilnorton  complained ;  the  grievance 
was  not  unnatural  in  her  since  she  felt  that  she  was  pay- 
ing part  of  the  bill ;  it  was  Ora's  debt  really,  but  Ora 
was  morally  insolvent,  and  made  her  friends  unwilling 
guarantors.  The  pleasant  confidence  with  which  she  had 
awaited  Bowdon's  approaches  and  received  his  atten- 
tions was  shaken ;  she  found  that  she  had  wanted  him 
more  than  she  had  thought,  that  she  was  less  sure  of 
getting  him  than  she  had  supposed.  He  had  been  to 
see  her  two  or  three  times ;  there  was  no  falling  off  in 
his  courtesies,  no  abrupt  break  in  his  assiduity.  But  a 
cloud  hung  about  him.      Being  there,  he  seemed  half 


44     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

somewhere  else;  she  suspected  where  the  absent  half 
of  his  thoughts  might  be  found.  He  wore  an  air  almost 
remorseful  and  certainly  rather  apologetic;  Lady  Kil- 
norton  did  not  wish  to  be  courted  by  way  of  apology. 
She  knew  it  was  all  Ora  Pinsent,  and,  although  she  was 
quite  aware  that  there  was  a  good  deal  to  be  pleaded  on 
Ora's  side  of  the  question,  she  itched  to  say  something 
—  no  matter  what,  provided  it  were  pointed  and  un- 
pleasant—  about  Jack  Fenning.  Babba  Flint,  with 
whom  she  was  acquainted,  had  once  described  some 
young  lady  to  her  as  his  "  second-best  girl."  Babba 
was  deplorable,  most  deplorable;  yet  her  anger  bor- 
rowed from  his  strange  vocabulary.  She  did  not  want 
to  be  anybody's  "  second-best  girl."  "  Not,"  she  added, 
"  that  I'm  a  girl  at  all.  No  more  is  Ora,  for  that  mat- 
ter." The  pleasure  of  the  hit  at  Ora  outweighed  the 
regret  in  her  admission  about  herself. 

With  regard  to  Ashley  Mead  her  mood  was  much 
lighter,  and,  as  a  consequence,  much  less  repressed. 
Since  she  did  not  care  greatly  whether  he  came  or 
not,  she  reproached  him  bitterly  for  not  coming ;  being 
tolerably  indifferent  as  to  how  he  managed  his  life,  she 
exhorted  him  not  to  be  silly;  having  no  concern  in  the 
disposal  of  his  affections,  she  gave  him  the  best  pos- 
sible advice  as  to  where  he  should  bestow  them.  This 
conversation  happened  at  Mrs.  Pocklington's,  where 
everybody  was,  and  it  seemed  to  amuse  Ashley  Mead 
very  much.  But  it  was  Friday  night  and  Sunday  was 
near,  so  that  everything  seemed  to  amuse  and  please 
him.  She  told  him  that  Alice  Muddock  was  somewhere 
in  the  rooms ;  he  said  that  he  had  already  paid  his  re- 
spects to  Alice.  Irene's  glance  charged  him  with  the 
blindest  folly.  "  How  women  are  always  trying  to 
give  one  another  away !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Oh,  if  you 


BY   WAY   OF   PRECAUTION       45 

won't  see,  you  won't,"  she  answered  huffishly  and  leant 
back  in  her  chair.  The  baffled  mentor  harboured  a 
grievance !  He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  smiled, 
and  passed  on. 

Presently  Minna  Soames  came  and  sat  down  by  her. 
Minna  was  one  of  those  girls  to  whom  it  is  impossible 
to  deny  prettiness  and  impossible  to  ascribe  beauty;  she 
sang  very  well  and  lived  very  comfortably  by  her  con- 
certs; she  might,  of  course  (or  so  she  said),  have  made 
more  on  the  stage,  but  then  there  was  the  atmosphere. 
Irene  did  not  like  her  much  and  was  inclined  to  think 
her  silly.  What  matter?  She  began  to  exercise  a  cir- 
cumscribed power  of  sarcasm  on  Ora  Pinsent;  in  spite 
of  a  secret  sense  of  shame,  Irene  became  more  and  more 
gracious.  Praise  be  to  those  who  abuse  whom  we 
would  abuse  but  cannot  with  propriety ! 

"  I  was  quite  surprised  to  see  her  at  Lady  Muddock's," 
observed  Miss  Soames  with  prim  maliciousness. 

Irene  cast  a  glance  at  her  companion;  the  remark 
was  evidently  innocent,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned  ;  the 
malice  was  purely  for  Ora,  not  for  her.  Miss  Soames 
was  not  aware  how  Ora  had  come  to  be  at  the  Mud- 
docks'  !  Irene  reached  the  depths  of  self-contempt 
when,  after  ten  minutes,  Minna  Soames  went  away  still 
in  ignorance  of  this  simple  fact.  "  I  'm  a  mean  wretch," 
Irene  Kilnorton  thought  ;  and  so  at  the  moment  she 
was — as  the  best  of  us  at  certain  moments  are. 

These  same  moments,  in  which  we  see  ourselves  as 
we  are  most  careful  that  others  shall  not  see  us,  are  not 
so  pleasant  that  we  seek  to  prolong  them.  Irene  plunged 
into  the  moving  throng  with  the  idea  of  finding  some- 
body to  talk  to  her  and  take  her  to  supper.  With  some 
surprise,  some  pleasure,  and  more  excitement  than  she 
was  willing   to   admit,    she   chanced   to  meet   Bowdon 


46     A    SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

almost  immediately.  Her  temper  rose  to  the  encounter 
as  though  to  a  challenge.  She  suggested  supper.  She 
began  to  find  herself  in  high  spirits.  The  idea  was  in 
her  that  she  would  not  surrender,  would  not  give  up  the 
game,  would  not  make  Ora  irresistible  by  shirking  a 
fight  with  her.  When  they  had  secured  a  little  table 
and  sat  down  she  began  to  talk  her  best ;  in  this  she  was 
helped  by  the  consciousness  of  looking  her  best ;  she 
did  not  fear  to  pin  his  eyes  to  her  with  keenest  attention. 
But  the  expression  of  the  watching  eyes  puzzled  and 
annoyed  her ;  they  were  eager  and  yet  doubtful,  ap- 
preciative but  wistful.  Was  he  trying  to  think  her  all 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  thinking  her,  still  to  see 
in  her  all  that  he  wanted?  Was  he  unhappy  because 
he  could  not  so  think  and  so  see?  He  almost  gave  her 
that  impression.  She  was  very  gay  and  felt  herself  now 
almost  brilliant;  her  contest  was  with  that  most  gay  and 
brilliant  shape  which  came  between  his  eyes  and  what 
she  offered  for  their  allurement.  People  passing  by,  in 
the  usual  ignorance  and  the  usual  confidence  of  passers- 
by,  summed  up  the  situation  in  a  moment;  Bowdon  was 
only  waiting  for  her  leave  to  speak,  she  was  absolutely 
confident  of  him.  They  envied  her  and  said  that  she 
should  not  parade  her  captive  quite  so  openly.  She 
guessed  what  they  thought ;  she  was  glad  and  was  fired 
to  new  efforts.  She  alone  would  know  how  incomplete 
was  the  victory ;  for  all  the  world  she  would  be  trium- 
phant. Even  Ora  might  think  herself  defeated !  But 
why  was  he  changed,  why  was  she  less  charming  to 
him,  why  must  she  strive  and  toil  and  force?  In  the 
midst  of  her  raillery  and  gaiety  she  could  have  put  her 
hands  before  her  face,  and  hidden  tears. 

He  was    almost  persuaded,  he  was  eager   to  be  per- 
suaded.    At  this  moment  she  seemed  all  he  wanted;   he 


BY   WAY   OF   PRECAUTION        47 

told  himself  angrily  and  persistently  that  she  was  all  that 
any  man  could  or  ought  to  want,  that  she  stood  for  the 
best  and  most  reasonable  thing,  for  sure  happiness  and 
stable  content.  If  he  left  her,  for  what  would  he  leave 
her?  For  utter  folly  and  worse.  She  would  be  a  wife 
to  be  proud  of;  there  would  be  no  need  to  apologise  for 
her.  Even  had  there  been  no  Jack  Fenning,  he  knew 
that  a  marriage  with  Ora  Pinsent  would  seem  even  to 
himself  to  need  some  apology,  that  he  would  fear  to 
see  smiles  mingled  with  the  congratulations,  and  to  hear 
a  sunken  murmur  of  sneers  and  laughter  among  the 
polite  applause.  He  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  because 
he  did  not  on  that  very  instant  claim  her  for  his.  Why, 
the  other  woman  would  not  even  let  him  make  love  to 
her !  He  smiled  bitterly  as  he  recollected  that  it  was 
not  open  to  him  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  even  if  he 
would.  He  wanted  the  bad  and  could  not  have  it,  but 
because  he  wanted  it  vainly,  now  he  was  refusing  the 
good.  No  raw  boy  could  have  sailed  further  in  folly. 
Coming  to  that  conclusion  he  declared  he  would  take  a 
firm  hold  on  himself.  Failing  that,  his  danger  was 
imminent. 

They  went  up  together  from  the  supper-room.  Now 
she  was  set  to  win  or  for  ever  to  lose ;  she  could  not 
play  such  a  game  twice.  "  Don't  leave  me,"  she  said, 
boldly  and  directly.  "  Everybody  here  is  so  tiresome. 
Let 's  go  to  the  little  room  at  the  end,  it 's  generally 
empty."  He  appeared  to  obey  her  readily,  even  eagerly, 
indeed  to  be  grateful  for  her  invitation ;  it  shewed  that 
he  had  not  betrayed  himself.  The  little  room  was 
empty  and  they  sat  down  together.  Now  he  was  in- 
clined to  silence  and  seemed  thoughtful.  Irene,  in 
inward  tumult,  was  outwardly  no  more  than  excited  to 
an  unusual  brightness.     After  one  swift  searching  glance 


48     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

at  him,  she  faced  the  guns  and  hazarded  her  assault 
against  the  full  force  of  the  enemy.  She  began  to  speak 
of  Ora,  dragging  her  name  into  the  conversation  and 
keeping  it  there,  in  spite  of  his  evident  desire  to  avoid 
the  topic.  Of  Ora  her  friend  she  said  nothing  untrue, 
nothing  scandalous,  nothing  malicious;  she  watched 
her  tongue  with  a  jealous  care ;  conscience  was  awake 
in  her ;  she  would  have  no  backbiting  to  charge  herself 
with.  But  she  did  not  see  why  she  should  not  speak 
the  truth ;  so  she  told  herself;  both  the  general  truths 
that  everybody  knew  and  the  special  truths  which  in- 
timacy with  Ora  Pinsent  had  revealed  to  her.  Ora  spoke 
plainly,  even  recklessly,  of  others ;  why  should  she  not 
be  spoken  about  plainly,  not  recklessly,  in  her  turn? 
And,  no,  she  said  nothing  untrue,  nothing  that  she 
would  not  have  said  to  Ora's  face,  in  the  very,  or  almost 
the  very,  same  words. 

"  Yes,  she  's  a  strange  creature,"  assented  Bowdon. 

"  Now  Ashley  Mead  's  mad  about  her  !  But  of  course 
he  's  only  one  of  a  dozen." 

Here  was  dangerous  ground  ;  she  might  have  stirred 
a  jealousy  which  would  have  undone  all  that  was  begun; 
with  many  men  this  result  would  have  been  almost  cer- 
tain. But  with  Bowdon  there  was  wisdom  in  her  line  ol 
attack ;  she  roused  pride  in  him,  the  haughtiness  which 
was  in  his  heart  though  never  in  his  bearing,  the  instinct 
of  exclusiveness,  the  quiet  feeling  of  born  superiority  to 
the  crowd,  the  innate  dislike  of  being  one  of  a  dozen,  ot 
scrambling  for  a  prize  instead  of  reaching  out  to  accept 
a  proffered  gift.  Ashley  Mead,  the  secretary  of  his 
Commission,  his  protege  —  and  a  dozen  more!  The 
memory  of  his  confidence  to  Ashley  became  very  bitter; 
if  Ashley  were  favoured,  he  would  laugh  over  the  recol- 
lection of  that  talk  !     He  felt  eager  to  shew  Ashley  that 


BY   WAY   OF   PRECAUTION       49 

it  was  all  no  more  than  a  whim,  hardly  more  than  a 
joke.  Well,  there  was  a  ready  way  to  shew  Ashley  that 
—  and,  he  told  himself,  to  shew  it  to  himself  too,  to 
convince  himself  of  it,  at  least  to  put  it  out  of  his  own 
power  henceforth  to  question  it  by  word  or  deed.  The 
great  and  the  little,  the  conviction  of  his  mind  and  the 
prick  of  his  vanity,  worked  together  in  him. 

He  was  persuaded  now  that  to  go  forward  on  this  path 
would  be  wise,  would  make  for  the  worthiness  and 
dignity  of  his  life,  save  him  from  unbecoming  follies, 
and  intrench  him  from  dangers.  If  only  he  could  again 
come  to  feel  the  thing  sweet  as  well  as  wise  !  There 
was  much  to  help  him  —  his  old  impulses  which  now  re- 
vived, her  unusual  brilliancy,  the  way  in  which  she 
seemed  to  draw  to  him,  to  delight  in  talking  to  him, 
to  make  of  him  a  friend  more  intimate  than  she  had 
allowed  him  to  consider  himself  before.  He  had  meant 
the  thing  so  definitely  a  few  weeks  ago ;  it  seemed 
absurd  not  to  mean  it  now,  not  to  suppose  it  would  be 
as  pleasant  and  satisfactory  now  as  it  had  seemed  then. 
He  had  been  in  a  delusion  of  feeling ;  here  was  sanity 
coming  back  again.  He  caught  at  it  with  an  eager, 
detaining  hand. 

Suddenly  Irene  felt  that  the  battle  was  won ;  she  knew 
it  clearly  in  an  instant.  There  was  a  change  in  his  man- 
ner, his  tones,  his  eyes,  his  smile.  Now  he  was  making 
love  to  her  and  no  longer  thinking  whether  he  should 
make  love  to  her ;  and  to  her  he  could  make  love  thus 
plainly  with  one  purpose  only,  and  only  to  one  end. 
She  had  what  she  had  striven  for,  in  a  very  little  while 
now  it  would  be  offered  to  her  explicitly.  For  an  in- 
stant she  shrank  back  from  plucking  the  fruit,  now  that 
she  had  bent  the  bough  down  within  her  reach.  There 
was   a  revulsion  to  shame  because  she  had  tried,  had 

4 


50    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

fought,  had  set  her  teeth  and  struggled  till  she  won. 
What  she  had  said  of  Ora  Pinsent  rose  up  against  her, 
declaring  that  its  truth  was  no  honest  truth  since  it  was 
not  spoken  honestly.  Babba  Flint  and  his  horrible 
phrase  wormed  their  way  back  into  her  mind.  But  she 
rose  above  these  falterings ;  she  would  not  go  back  now 
that  she  had  won  —  had  won  that  triumph  which  all  the 
world  would  suppose  to  be  so  complete,  and  had  avoided 
that  defeat  the  thought  of  whose  bitterness  had  armed 
her  for  battle  and  sustained  her  in  the  conflict.  In  view 
of  Bowdon's  former  readiness  it  would  be  grossly  un- 
fair, surely,  to  speak  of  hers  as  the  common  case  of  a 
woman  leading  a  man  on ;  his  implied  offer  had  never 
been  withdrawn ;  she  chose  now  to  accept  it ;  that  was 
the  whole  truth  about  the  matter. 

He  asked  her  to  be  his  wife  with  the  fire  and  spirit 
of  a  passion  seemingly  sincere ;  she  turned  to  him  in  a 
temporary  fit  of  joy,  which  made  her  forget  the  road  by 
which  she  had  travelled  to  her  end.  Her  low-voiced 
confession  of  love  made  him  very  glad  that  he  had 
spoken,  very  glad  for  her  sake  as  well  as  for  his  own ; 
it  was  a  great  thing  to  make  her  so  happy.  If  he  had 
refrained,  and  then  found  out  the  anticipations  he  had 
raised  in  her  and  how  he  had  taught  her  to  build  on  him, 
he  must  have  acknowledged  a  grave  infraction  of  his 
code.  She  was,  after  the  first  outburst  of  fearful  delight, 
very  gentle  and  seemed  to  plead  with  him ;  he  answered 
the  pleading,  half  unconsciously,  by  telling  her  that  he 
had  been  so  long  in  finding  words  because  she  had  en- 
couraged him  so  little  and  kept  him  in  such  uncertainty. 
When  she  heard  this  she  turned  her  face  up  to  his  again 
with  a  curiously  timid  deprecatory  affection. 

He  was  for  announcing  the  engagement  then  and 
there,  as  publicly  as  possible.     His  avowed  motive  was 


BY   WAY   OF   PRECAUTION        51 

his  pride ;  a  desire  to  commit  himself  beyond  recall,  to 
establish  the  fact  and  make  it  impregnable,  was  the 
secret  spring.  Irene  would  not  face  the  whole  assembly, 
but  agreed  that  the  news  should  be  whispered  to  chosen 
friends. 

"  It  '11  come  to  the  same  thing  in  a  very  little  while," 
he  said  with  a  relieved  laugh. 

Before  the  evening  ended,  the  tidings  thus  disseminated 
reached  Ashley  Mead,  and  he  hastened  to  Irene.  Bow- 
don  had  left  her  for  the  moment,  and  he  detached  her 
easily  from  the  grasp  of  a  casual  bore.  His  felicitations 
lacked  nothing  in  heartiness. 

"But  it's  no  surprise,"  he  laughed.  "I  was  only 
wondering  how  long  you'd  put  it  off.  I  mean  '  you ' 
in  the  singular   number." 

That  was  pleasant  to  hear,  just  what  she  wanted  to 
hear,  just  what  she  wished  all  the  world  to  say.  But 
she  burned  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  continued  in  the 
same  state  of  anticipation  during  the  last  week  or  two. 
Suddenly  he  smiled  in  a  meditative  way. 

"  What 's  amusing  you  ?  "  she  demanded  rather  sharply. 
"  Nothing,"  he  answered.  He  had  been  thinking  of 
Bowdon's  midnight  confidence.  He  reflected  how  very 
different  men  were.  Some  day,  no  doubt,  he  himself 
would  make  a  proper  and  reasonable  choice;  but  he 
could  not  have  gone  so  straight  from  the  idea  (however 
foolish  the  idea)  of  Ora  Pinsent  to  the  fact  of  Irene 
Kilnorton.  It  was  to  lay  aside  a  rapturous  lyric  and  take 
up  a  pleasantly  written  tale.  He  found  several  other 
such  similes  for  it,  the  shadow  of  Sunday  being  over  his 
mind.  He  was  in  great  spirits  and  began  to  talk  merrily 
and  volubly,  making  fun  of  his  companion,  of  love,  of 
engaged  folk,  and  so  on.  She  listened  very  contentedly 
for  awhile,  but  then  began  to  wonder  why  Bowdon  did 


52     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

not  come  back  to  her ;  she  would  have  risked  absurdity 
to  be  sure  that  he  could  not  keep  away.  She  knew  men 
hated  that  risk  above  all;  but  surely  he  could  come 
back  now  and  talk  to  her  again?  She  looked  round 
and  saw  him  standing  alone ;  then  he  wanted  to  come. 
With  her  eyes  she  gave  him  a  glad  invitation ;  but  as 
he  approached  there  was  a  sort  of  embarrassment  in  his 
manner,  a  shamefacedness ;  he  was  too  much  a  man  of 
the  world  to  wear  that  look  simply  because  he  had 
become  a  declared  lover.  And  although  Ashley  was 
both  cordial  and  sufficiently  respectful  there  was  a  dis- 
tant twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  if  he  were  enjoying  some 
joke.  Her  apprehensions  and  her  knowledge  of  the 
nature  of  her  triumph  made  her  almost  unnaturally 
acute  to  detect  the  slightest  shade  of  manner  in  either 
of  the  men.  Men  knew  things  about  one  another  which 
were  kept  from  women  ;  had  Ashley  a  knowledge  which 
she  lacked?  Did  it  make  her  triumph  seem  to  him  not 
incomplete  perhaps,  but  very  strange?  The  glow  of 
victory  even  so  soon  began  to  give  place  to  discomfort 
and  restlessness. 

Ashley  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  shall  go,"  he  announced.  "  I  've  been  betrayed." 
He  spoke  with  a  burlesque  despair.  "  A  certain  lady  — 
you  can't  monopolise  the  tender  affections,  Lady  Kil- 
norton  —  told  me  she  would  be  here  —  late.  It 's  late, 
in  fact  very  late,  and  she  's  not  here." 

"  Who  was  she?  "  asked  Irene. 

"  Can  you  doubt?  But  I  suppose  she  felt  lazy  after 
the  theatre." 

"Oh,  Ora?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Ashley. 

"How  silly  you  are!  Isn't  he?"  She  turned  to 
Bowdon. 


BY  WAY   OF   PRECAUTION        53 

"  He 's  very  young,"  said  Bowdon,  with  a  smile. 
"  When  he  comes  to  my  age  —  " 

"You  can't  say  much  to-night  anyhow,  can  you?" 
laughed  Ashley. 

"  Ora  never  comes  when  she  says  she  will." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  does  sometimes,"  Ashley  insisted, 
thinking  of  his  Sunday. 

"  You  have  to  go  and  drag  her  ! " 

"  That 's  just  what  I  should  do." 

No  doubt  Bowdon  took  as  small  a  part  in  the  conver- 
sation as  he  decently  could.  Still  it  seemed  possible  to 
talk  about  Ora ;  that  to  Irene's  present  mood  was  some- 
thing gained.  Nobody  turned  round  on  her  and  said, 
"  He  'd  rather  have  had  Ora,  really,"  a  fantastic  occur- 
rence which  had  become  conceivable  to  her. 

"  Your  Muddocks  have  gone,  haven't  they?"  she 
asked  Ashley. 

"  Yes,  my  Muddocks  have  gone,"  said  Ashley,  laugh- 
ing. "But  why 'my'  Muddocks?  Am  I  responsible 
for  them  ?  " 

"  They  ought  to  be  your  Muddocks.  I  try  to  get 
him  to  be  sensible."  The  last  sentence  she  addressed 
to  Bowdon  with  a  smile.     "  But  men  won't  be." 

"None  of  them?"  asked  Bowdon,  returning  her 
smile. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  you  're  being  sensible,"  she  cried, 
half-laughing,  half-petulantly.  "  I  don't  want  you  to  be ; 
but  I  think  Mr.  Mead  might." 

"  Marriage  as  a  precautionary  method  doesn't  recom- 
mend itself  to  me,"  said  Ashley  lightly,  as  he  held  out 
his  hand  in  farewell.  They  both  laughed  and  watched 
him  as  he  went. 

"  Silly  young  man  !  "  she  said.  "  You  '11  take  me  to 
my  carriage,  won't  you  ?  " 


54     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Ashley  might  be  silly ;  they  were  wise.  But  Wisdom 
often  goes  home  troubled,  Folly  with  a  light  heart.  The 
hand  of  the  future  is  needed  to  vindicate  the  one  and  to 
confound  the  other.  No  doubt  it  does.  The  future, 
however,  is  a  vague  and  indefinite  period  of  time. 


CHAPTER  V 

A    DAY    IN    THE    COUNTRY 

WHEN  Ashley  Mead  called  for  her  at  eleven 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  Miss  Pinsent  was  not 
dressed.  When  she  made  her  appearance  at  a  quarter 
to  twelve  she  was  rather  peevish ;  her  repertory  em- 
braced some  moods  quite  unamiable  in  a  light  way. 
She  did  not  want  to  go,  she  said,  and  she  would  not  go ; 
she  wondered  how  she  had  come  to  say  she  would  go ; 
was  he  sure  she  had  said  so? 

"  Oh,  you  must  go  now,"  said  Ashley  cheerfully  and 
decisively. 

"  Why  must  I,  if  I  don't  want  to  ?  " 

"  Honour,  justice,  kindness,  pity ;  take  your  choice  of 
motives.     Besides  —  "  he  paused,  smiling  at  her. 

"  Well,  what  besides?" 

"You  mean  to  go."  The  stroke  was  bold,  bold  as 
that  of  Lady  Kilnorton's  about  Ashley  being  one  of  a 
dozen. 

"  Are  you  a  thought-reader,  Mr.  Mead  ?  " 

"  A  gown-reader  on  this  occasion.  If  that  frock  means 
anything  it  means  the  country." 

Ora  smiled  reluctantly,  with  a  glance  down  the  front 
of  her  gown. 

"  It 's  quite  true  I  didn't  mean  to  go,"  she  said. 
"  Besides  I  didn't  think  you  'd  come." 

"  A  very  doubtful  truth,  and  a  quite  unnecessary 
fiction,"  said  he.     "  Come  along." 


56    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

She  came,  obedient  but  still  not  gay;  he  did  not 
force  the  talk.  They  went  to  Waterloo  and  took  tickets 
for  a  quiet  village.  He  gave  her  all  the  Sunday  papers 
and  for  a  time  she  read  them,  while  he  leant  back, 
steadily  and  curiously  regarding  the  white  smooth  brow 
which  shewed  itself  over  the  top  of  the  sheet.  He  was 
wondering  how  she  kept  the  traces  of  her  various  emo- 
tions (she  was  credited  with  so  many)  off  her  face.  For 
lines  she  might  have  been  a  child ;  for  eyes  too,  it 
seemed  to  him  sometimes,  while  at  other  moments  all 
possibilities  of  feeling,  if  not  of  knowledge,  spoke  in 
her  glance.  After  this,  it  seemed  a  poor  conclusion  to 
repeat  that  she  was  interesting. 

Presently  she  threw  away  her  paper  and  looked  out 
of  the  window  with  a  grave,  almost  bored,  expression. 
Still  Ashley  bided  his  time ;  he  took  up  the  discarded 
journal  and  read ;  its  pleasant,  discursive,  unimportant 
talk  was  content  with  half  his  mind. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said  absently,  "that  Irene  and  Lord 
Bowdon  are  spending  the  day  together  somewhere." 

"  I  suppose  so ;  they  ought  to  be,  anyhow." 

A  long  pause  followed,  Ashley  still  reading  his  column 
of  gossip  with  an  appearance  of  sufficient  attention. 
Ora  glanced  at  him,  her  brows  raised  a  little  in  protest. 
At  last  she  seemed  to  understand  the  position. 

"  I  'm  ready  to  be  agreeable  as  soon  as  you  are,"  she 
announced. 

"  Why,  then,  it 's  most  delightful  of  you  to  come," 
was  his  answer,  as  he  leant  forward  to  her;  the  paper 
fell  on  the  floor  and  he  pushed  it  away  with  his  foot. 
"Will  they  enjoy  themselves,  that  couple?" 

"  She  wrote  to  me  about  it  yesterday,  quite  a  long 
letter." 

"  Giving  reasons?  " 


A  DAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY       57 

"  Yes ;   reasons  of  a  sort,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  nodded.  "  Somehow  both  of 
them  seemed  anxious  to  have  reasons,  good  sound 
reasons." 

"  Oh,  well,  but  she  's  in  love  with  him,"  said  Ora.  "  I 
suppose  that 's  a  reason." 

"  And  he  with  her?" 

"Of  course." 

It  had  been  Ora's  firm  intention  not  to  refer  in  the 
most  distant  manner  to  what  had  passed  between  Bow- 
don  and  herself.  But  our  lips  and  eyes  are  traitors  to 
our  careful  tongues  ;  and  there  are  people  who  draw  out 
a  joke  from  any  hiding-place. 

"  He's  done  a  very  wise  thing,"  said  Ashley,  looking 
straight  into  her  eyes.  She  blushed  and  laughed.  "  I 
admire  wise  things,"  he  added,  laughing  in  his  turn. 

"But  don't  do  them?" 

"  Oh,  sometimes.  To-day  for  example  !  What  can 
be  wiser  than  to  refresh  myself  with  a  day  in  the  country, 
to  spend  a  few  hours  in  fresh  air  and  —  and  pleasant 
surroundings?  " 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  settled  herself 
more  luxuriously  on  the  seat  as  she  murmured,  "  I  like 
being  wise  too." 

The  one  porter  at  the  little  station  eyed  Ora  with 
grave  appreciation ;  the  landlady  of  the  little  inn  where 
they  procured  a  plain  lunch  seemed  divided  between 
distrust  of  the  lady  and  admiration  of  her  garments. 
Ashley  ordered  an  early  dinner  and  then  invited  his 
friend  to  come  out  of  doors. 

He  had  brought  her  to  no  show  view,  no  famous 
prospect.  There  was  only  a  low  slow  stream  dawdling 
along  through  the  meadows,  a  belt  of  trees  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away  behind  them,  in  front  a  stretch  of  flat  land 


58     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

beyond  the  river,  and  on  the  water's  edge,  here  and 
there,  a  few  willows.  She  found  a  convenient  slope  in 
the  bank  and  sat  down,  he  lying  beside  her,  smoking  a 
cigar.  The  sun  shone,  but  the  breeze  was  fresh.  Ora 
had  been  merry  at  lunch  but  now  she  became  silent 
again.  When  Ashley  Mead  threw  the  stump  of  his 
cigar  into  the  stream,  she  seemed  to  rouse  herself  from 
a  reverie  and  watched  it  bob  lazily  away. 

"  Sleepy  after  lunch  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  *m  not  sleepy,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  letting 
things  pass  through  my  head."  She  turned  to  him 
rather  abruptly.  "  Why  did  you  bring  me  here  to-day?  " 
she  asked,  with  a  touch  of  protest  in  her  voice. 

"  Purely  a  desire  for  pleasure ;  I  wanted  to  enjoy 
myself." 

"  Are  you  like  that  too?  Because  I  am."  She  seemed 
to  search  his  face.    "  But  there  's  something  else  in  you." 

"Yes,  at  other  times,"  he  admitted.  "But  just  then 
there  wasn't,  so  I  brought  you.  And  just  now  there 
isn't." 

She  laughed,  rather  nervously  as  it  seemed  to  him. 

"  And  what  do  the  other  things,  when  they  're  there, 
say  to  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  they  're  sure  of  their  innings  in  the  end  !  "  His 
tone  was  careless,  but  his  eyes  did  not  leave  her  face. 
He  had  meant  not  to  make  love  to  her ;  he  would  not 
have  admitted  that  he  was  making  love  to  her.  But  to 
have  her  face  there  and  not  look  at  it  had  become  im- 
possible ;  it  chained  him  with  its  power  of  exciting  that 
curiosity  mingled  with  attraction  which  is  roughly 
dubbed  fascination.  He  felt  that  he  must  not  only  see 
more  of  her  but  know  more  of  her ;  there  was  a  demand 
of  the  brain  as  well  as  a  craving  of  the  emotions.  She 
seemed  moved  to  tell  him  nothing;  she  made  no  dis- 


A  DAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY       59 

closures  of  her  past  life,  where  she  had  been  born  or 
bred,  how  she  had  fared,  how  come  where  she  was,  how 
become  Mrs.  Jack  Fenning,  or  how  now  again  turned 
to  Ora  Pinsent.  She  left  him  to  find  out  anything  he 
wanted  to  know.  Her  assumption  that  there  was  noth- 
ing to  tell,  or  no  reason  to  tell  anything,  spurred  him  to 
further  study  of  her.  That  he  studied  at  his  peril  he 
knew  well  and  had  known  from  the  first;  it  was  but 
another  prick  of  the  spur  to  him. 

She  had  been  gazing  across  the  stream,  at  the  meadows 
and  the  cattle.  Now  her  eyes  returned  to  him  and, 
meeting  his  glance,  she  laughed  again  in  that  half- 
amused,  half-embarrassed  way. 

"  Shall  I  make  up  a  life  for  you?  "  he  asked.  "  Listen 
now.  You  weren't  pretty  as  a  young  girl;  you  were 
considered  very  naughty,  rather  good-for-nothing;  I 
think  they  were  a  bit  down  on  you,  tried  to  drill  you 
into  being  like  other  people,  to  —  what 's  the  word  ?  — 
eradicate  your  faults,  to  give  you  the  virtues.  All  that 
made  you  rather  unhappy ;  you  'd  a  good  deal  rather 
have  been  petted.  But  you  weren't  drilled,  your  faults 
weren't  eradicated,  you  never  got  the  virtues." 

She  was  listening  with  a  smile  and  amused  eyes. 

"  The  training  broke  down  because  you  began  to  grow 
beautiful  and  coaxing;  they  couldn't  drill  you  any 
more;  it  wasn't  in  their  hearts.  They  began  to  see 
that  they  'd  got  something  uncommon ;  or  perhaps  they 
just  despaired.     They  said  it  was  Ora's  way.  —  " 

"  Lizzie's  way,"  she  corrected  with  a  merry  nod. 

"  Oh,  no.  Hang  Lizzie !  They  said  it  was  Ora's 
way,  and  that  it  was  no  use  bullying  the  girl.  Your 
father  said  it  first  and  had  some  trouble  in  convincing 
your  mother.  But  he  did  at  last.  Then  you  grew  up, 
and  everybody  made  love  to  you.     And  I  expect  some- 


60     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

body  died  and  home  wasn't  so  comfortable.  So  some 
time  or  other  you  took  a  flight  away,  and  the  stage  be- 
came a  reality.  I  suppose  it  had  been  a  dream.  And 
at  some  time  or  other  you  took  a  certain  step.  Then  I 
don't  know  anything  more  except  what 's  written  in  the 
Chronicles  of  Queen  Ora  Pinsent."  He  ended  the  story, 
which  had  been  punctuated  by  pauses  in  which  he 
gathered  fresh  information  from  her  face. 

"  You  've  done  well  to  find  out  so  much.  It  wasn't 
very  unlike  that.  Now  tell  me  the  future.  What 's 
going  to  happen  to  me?" 

"  You  're  going  to  be  young  and  beautiful  for  ever 
and  ever." 

She  laughed  joyfully. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  cried.  "  Let  me  see.  I  shall  be 
young  —  young  enough  —  for  ten  years  more,  and  with 
the  proper  appliances  beautiful  for  twenty." 

His  laugh  was  reluctant;  the  mention  of  the  proper 
appliances  jarred  on  him  a  little.  She  saw  it  in  an 
instant  and  answered  with  a  defiance :  "  I  rouge  now 
when  I  want  it." 

"  Are  you  rouged  to-day?" 

"  You  can  look  and  see." 

"  I  can  look,  but  perhaps  I  can't  see." 

She  rubbed  her  cheek  hard  with  her  hand  and  then 
showed  him  the  palm. 

"  I  hope  that 's  proof,"  he  said,  "  but  these  contriv- 
ances are  so  cunning  now-a-days." 

"  Men  think  them  even  more  cunning  than  they  are," 
laughed  Ora.  "And  what  have  you  done?"  she  went 
on.     "What's  your  life  been?" 

"The  deplorably  usual  —  preparatory  school,  public 
school,  Oxford,  Bar.  I  'm  a  full-blown  specimen  of  the 
ordinary  Englishman  of  the  professional  classes." 


A  DAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY       61 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  As  little  work  as  I 
must  and  as  little   harm  as  I  can,   I  suppose." 

She  laughed  as  she  said :  "  At  any  rate  you  aren't 
doing  much  work  to-day,  are  you?  And  no  harm  at 
all !  But  you  've  left  out  what  you  put  in  for  me  —  a 
certain  step." 

"  Well,  you  've  taken  it,  and  I  haven't." 

"You  will.  Oh,  Irene  Kilnorton  has  told  me  all 
about  it.  It  seems  you  can't  help  it,  Mr.  Mead.  I 
liked  her ;  I  asked  her  to  come  and  see  me,  but  she  's 
never  been." 

He  made  a  little  grimace,  wrinkling  brow  and  nose. 
Ora  laughed  again.  "  You  won't  be  able  to  help  it," 
she  declared,  nodding  her  head.  "  And  then  no  more 
Sundays  out  with  actresses !  " 

"  Even  as  matters  stand,  it 's  not  a  habit  of  mine,"  he 
protested. 

She  smoked  a  cigarette  of  his,  investing  the  act  of 
luxury  with  a  grace  which  made  it  meritorious ;  as  she 
blew  out  the  last  of  the  smoke,  she  sighed,  saying, 

"  I  wish  to-day  would  last  for  ever." 

"Do  you?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice.  The  tone 
startled  her  to  a  sudden  quick  glance  at  his  face.  Her 
words  had  given  expression  to  his  longing  that  this 
simple  perfection  of  existence  should  never  pass. 

"Just  the  meadows,  and  the  river,  and  the  sun- 
shine." 

"  You  leave  me  out?  " 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  may  be  somewhere  in  it,  if 
you  like.  Because  if  nothing  was  going  to  change,  I 
shouldn't  change  either;  and  I  like  you  being  here 
now,  so  I  should  like  you  being  here  always." 

"  Do  you  always  expect  to  change  to  people?" 


62     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  It 's  not  altogether  me.  They  change  to  me,  I 
think." 

"  If  I  don't  change  to  you,  will  you  promise  not  to 
change  to  me?"  He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  he 
looked  at  her  intently.     She  turned  away,  saying, 

"  I  should  be  rather  afraid  never  to  change  to  a  per- 
son. It  would  make  him  mean  so  terribly  much  to  one, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"But  you  married?"  he  whispered,  whether  in  seri- 
ousness or  in  mockery  he  himself  could  hardly  tell. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  She  seemed  to  agree  that  there 
was  a  puzzle,  but  to  be  unable  to  give  any  explanation 
of  it.  The  fact  was  there,  not  to  be  mended  by  theo- 
rising about  it. 

In  long  intimate  talk  the  hours  were  wearing  away. 
His  impulse  was  delicately  to  press  her  to  reveal  herself, 
to  shew  her  mind,  her  way  of  thought,  her  disposition 
towards  him.  But  side  by  side  with  his  interest  came 
the  growing  charm  of  her ;  he  hardly  knew  whether  to 
talk  to  her  or  to  be  silent  with  her,  to  elicit  and  trace 
the  changes  animation  made,  or  to  admire  the  dainty 
beauty  of  her  features  in  repose.  Movement  and  rest 
alike  became  her  so  well  that  to  drive  out  either  for  the 
other  seemed  a  gain  burdened  with  an  equal  loss ;  her 
quick  transitions  from  expression  to  expression  were 
ruthless  as  well  as  bountiful.  She  appeared  very  happy, 
forgetful  now  of  the  puzzle  that  he  had  called  to  her 
mind,  of  the  distrust  that  had  afflicted  her,  entirely 
given  over  to  the  pleasure  of  living  and  of  being  there. 
Then  she  liked  him;  he  was  no  jar,  no  unwelcome 
element.  But  there  was  still  a  distance  between  them, 
marked  by  her  occasional  nervousness,  her  ignoring  of 
a  remark  that  pressed  her  too  closely,  her  skirting 
round   topics  which  threatened   to  prove   too   serious. 


A  DAY  IN  THE   COUNTRY       03 

She  seemed  to  ask  him  not  to  compel  her  to  any  issue, 
not  to  make  her  face  any  questions  or  attempt  any  de- 
termination, to  let  her  go  on  being  happy  as  long  as 
might  be  possible  without  driving  her  to  ask  why  she 
was  happy  or  how  long  she  would  be.  Happy  she  was ; 
as  they  rose  reluctantly  to  go  back  to  the  inn  she  turned 
to  him,  saying : 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  you  've  given  me." 
But,  arrived  at  the  inn,  she  forgot  her  love  of  the 
meadows.  Now  she  was  glad  to  be  in  the  snug  parlour, 
glad  dinner  was  near,  glad  to  sit  in  a  chair  again.  She 
went  upstairs  under  the  escort  of  the  questioning  admir- 
ing landlady,  and  came  down  fresh  and  radiant.  In 
passing  she  gave  him  her  hand,  still  cool  and  moist  from 
water.  "  Isn't  that  nice  ?  "  she  asked,  and  laughed  mer- 
rily when  he  answered,  "  Oh,  well,  nice  enough."  The 
window  opened  on  a  little  garden ;  she  flung  it  wide. 
"  There 's  nobody  to  spy  on  how  much  we  eat,"  she 
said,  "  and  the  evening  smells  sweet.  Oh,  do  let 's 
begin ! "  And  she  clapped  her  hands  when  the  meal 
came.  Ashley  found  a  sort  of  pity  mingling  with  his 
other  feelings  for  her,  compassion  for  the  simplicity  and 
readiness  of  emotion  which  expose  their  possessor  to  so 
many  chances  of  sorrow  as  well  as  to  a  certainty  of  re- 
current joys.  But  he  fell  in  with  her  mood  and  they 
joined  in  a  childish  pretence  that  they  were  at  a  great 
banquet,  dignifying  the  simple  chicken  with  titles  they 
recollected  from  menus  or  constructed  from  imagina- 
tion, while  the  claret,  which  could  make  no  great  claims 
on  intrinsic  merit,  became  a  succession  of  costly  vin- 
tages, and  the  fictitious  bill,  by  which  she  declared  she 
would  measure  his  devotion  to  her,  grew  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  It  was  strange  to  realise  that  in  twenty-four 
hours  she  would  be  back  in  her  theatre,  a  great,  at 


64     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

least  a  notorious,  personage,  talked  of,  stared  at,  can- 
vassed, blamed,  admired,  the  life  she  herself  made  so 
simple  a  thing  given  over  to  a  thousand  others  for  their 
pleasure  and  curiosity.  A  touch  of  jealousy  made  itself 
felt  in  his  reflexions. 

"I'm  beginning  rather  to  hate  your  audiences,"  he 
said. 

A  shrug  and  a  smile  sent  the  audiences  to  a  limbo  of 
inexpressible  unimportance. 

"  You  '11  think  differently  about  that  to-morrow,"  he 
warned  her. 

"  Be  content  with  what  I  feel  to-night;   I  am." 
They  had  finished  dinner;    both  again  had  smoked 
cigarettes. 

"  How  long  before  the  train  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  An  hour   and  a  half,"  he  answered  with  a  hint  of 
triumph  in  his  voice;   the  end  was  not  yet;   even  after 
the  time  for  the  train  there  was  the  journey. 

Evening  fell  slowly,  as  it  seemed  with  a  sympathetic 
unwillingness  to  end  their  day.  She  moved  to  an  arm- 
chair by  the  side  of  the  window  and  he  sat  near  her. 
Talk  died  away  unmissed  and  silence  came  unnoticed. 
She  looked  a  little  tired  and  leant  back  in  her  seat ;  her 
face  shewed  pale  in  the  frame  of  dark  hair  that  clustered 
round  it ;  her  eyes  were  larger  and  more  eloquent.  The 
fate  that  he  had  braved,  or  in  truth  invited,  was  come ; 
he  loved  her,  he  so  loved  her  that  he  must  needs  touch 
her.  Yet  there  was  that  about  her  which  made  his 
touch  timid  and  light;  a  delicacy,  an  innocence  which 
he  was  inclined  to  call  paradoxical,  the  appeal  of  help- 
lessness, a  sort  of  unsubstantiality  that  made  her  seem 
the  love  for  a  man's  soul  only.  One  of  her  hands  lay 
on  the  arm  of  her  chair ;  he  laid  his  lightly  on  it  and 
when  she  turned   smiled  at  her.     She  smiled  back  at 


A   DAY   IN    THE   COUNTRY       65 

him  with  deprecation  but  with  perfect  understanding. 
She  knew  why  he  did  that ;  she  did  not  resent  it.  She 
turned  her  hand  over  and  very  lightly  grasped  his 
fingers  in  a  friendly  tender  pressure ;  she  gazed  again 
into  the  little  garden  while  their  hands  were  thus  dis- 
tantly clasped.  She  seemed  to  yield  what  she  must  and 
to  beg  him  to  ask  no  more.  He  longed  to  be  able  to  do 
her  will  as  it  was  and  not  to  seek  to  change  it,  to  offer 
her  no  violence  of  entreaty  and  to  bring  her  into  no 
distress.  But  the  sweetness  of  love's  gradual  venturing 
allured  him ;  it  might  be  still  that  she  only  tolerated, 
that  she  gave  a  return  for  her  day's  happiness,  and 
allowed  this  much  lest  she  should  wound  a  man  she 
liked.  With  that  he  was  not  content,  he  was  hotly 
and  keenly  discontent.  She  had  become  everything 
to  him ;  he  must  be  everything  to  her ;  if  it  must  be, 
everything  in  sorrow  and  renunciation,  but  everything ; 
if  not  for  always,  at  least  for  now,  for  the  end  of  this 
golden  day,  everything.  He  could  not  go  home  with- 
out the  memory  of  her  lips.  He  leant  forward  towards 
her ;  she  turned  to  him.  For  a  moment  she  smiled,  then 
grew  grave  again ;  she  let  him  draw  her  nearer  to  him, 
and  with  averted  face  and  averted  eyes  suffered  his  kiss 
on  her  cheek.  In  the  very  midst  of  his  emotion  he 
smiled;  she  preserved  so  wonderfully  the  air  of  not 
being  responsible  for  the  thing,  of  neither  accepting 
nor  rejecting,  of  being  quite  passive,  of  just  having  it 
happen  to  her.  He  kissed  her  again;  after  much  en- 
treaty, once  she  kissed  him  lightly,  shyly,  under  pro- 
test as  it  were,  yet  with  a  sincerity  and  gladness  which 
called  out  a  new  tenderness  in  him ;  they  seemed  to  say 
that  she  had  wanted  to  do  it  very  much  long  before  she 
did  it,  and  would  want  to  do  it  again,  and  yet  would  not 
do  it  again.     The  kiss,  which  from  many  women  would 

5 


66    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

have  levelled  all  barriers,  seemed  to  raise  new  ones 
round  her.  He  was  ashamed  of  himself  when  his  love 
drove  him  to  besiege  her  more.  Even  now  she  was 
not  resentful,  she  did  not  upbraid  or  repel  him;  she 
broke  into  that  little  nervous  laugh  of  hers,  as  she  lay 
back  passive  in  the  chair,  and  murmured  so  low  that  he 
hardly  caught  the  words,  "  Don't.  Don't  make  love  to 
me  any  more  now." 

Her  prohibition  or  request  had  availed  with  Bowdon's 
hesitating  conscience-ridden  impulse;  perhaps  there 
was  small  cause  to  wonder  at  that.  It  availed  now  no 
less  with  Ashley  Mead's  impetuous  passion.  Her  low 
whisper  protected  her  absolutely;  the  confession  it 
hinted  disarmed  him;  he  caught  both  her  hands  and 
held  them  in  a  long  clasp,  looking  the  while  into  her 
appealing  eyes.  But  he  entreated  her  no  more  and 
he  kissed  her  no  more.  A  moment  later  he  rose,  went 
and  sat  on  the  window-sill,  and  lit  a  cigarette ;  the  glow 
seemed  a  tiny  beacon  of  fire  to  shew  the  harbour,  that 
danger  was  past,  that  her  orders  were  understood  and 
accepted.  She  lay  very  quiet,  looking  at  him  with 
steady,  grateful,  loving  eyes,  acknowledging  a  kindness 
that  she  had  not  doubted  and  yet  found  fine  in  him. 
His  transgression  —  perhaps  she  hardly  counted  it  one 
—  was  forgiven  because  he  stayed  his  steps  at  her  bid- 
ding. He  knew  that  she  trusted  him ;  and  in  spite  of 
her  prohibition  he  believed  that  she  loved  him. 

Now  one  of  the  riddles  about  her  seemed  to  find  an 
explanation.  He  understood  how  she  had  passed 
through  the  dangers  and  the  ordeal,  and  had  come  out 
still  with  her  freshness  and  her  innocence;  how  her 
taste  had  saved  her  from  those  who  would  have  been 
deaf  to  the  appeal  that  had  arrested  him,  how  powerful 
and   sufficing   a   shield   that   appeal   was   to    any   man 


A  DAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY        67 

whom  her  taste  would  allow  to  come  close  to  her 
in  comradeship.  You  could  not  be  false  to  a  confidence 
like  that;  if  you  were  a  man  who  could,  you  would 
never  have  the  chance.  Thus  Ashley  summed  up  a 
case  which  a  little  while  ago  had  seemed  to  him  very 
strange.  It  seemed  strange  and  unusual  still,  with  a 
peculiar  charm  of  its  own.  It  was  weakness  breeding 
strength,  surrender  made  security.  It  put  a  man  on 
his  honour;  it  took  away  the  resistance  which  might 
make  honour  forget  itself  in  the  passion  of  victory.  It 
was  like  being  made  guardian  of  another's  treasure; 
you  were  careful  of  it,  however  heedless  you  were  of 
your  own. 

As  they  journeyed  home,  she  was  mirthful  and  joy- 
ous. This  day  was  done,  but  she  did  not  despair  of  the 
world ;  there  should  be  other  days,  and  the  work  of  this 
day  should  endure.  She  made  plans  by  which  they 
were  to  meet,  to  be  much  together,  to  unite  their  lives 
by  many  ties.  She  let  him  see  how  much  he  had  en- 
tered into  her  schemes ;  she  told  him  plainly  again  and 
again  that  he  had  become  to  her  quite  different  from 
all  other  men.  She  revealed  to  him  her  little  habits, 
her  tempers,  her  ways,  her  manoeuvres,  her  tricks ;  she 
had  plenty  of  all  of  them.  She  shewed  an  open  delight 
in  the  love  which  she  had  won  from  him  and  made  no 
pretence  of  concealing  anything  of  what  he  was  to  her. 
Of  Jack  Fenning  she  said  not  a  word;  of  caution  in  the 
externals  of  her  own  behaviour,  of  what  people  might 
think  or  say,  of  any  possible  difficulties  in  their  relation 
to  one  another,  not  a  word.  She  was  happy  and  she 
was  grateful.  He  took  her  to  the  door  of  her  own 
house ;  she  was  not  hurt  but  seemed  a  little  surprised 
that  he  would  not  go  in.  He  did  not  offer  to  kiss  her 
again,  but  could  not  avoid  thinking  that  she  would  have 


68     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

been  neither  angry  nor  grieved  if  he  had.  His  last 
memory  was  of  her  looking  round  her  door,  smiling 
delightedly  and  nodding  to  him,  her  eyes  full  of  a  thou- 
sand confidences.  "  Come  soon,"  she  called  at  last 
before  she  hid  herself  from  his  sight. 

When  he  reached  his  own  rooms,  he  found  awaiting 
him  a  note  from  Sir  James  Muddock,  begging  him  to 
come  to  the  office  at  Buckingham  Palace  Road  at 
eleven  the  next  morning.  "  I  have  had  an  interview 
with  my  doctor,"  the  old  man  wrote,  "  which  makes  it 
necessary  for  me  to  consider  very  seriously  certain 
immediate  steps.  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  rely  on 
your  assistance."  The  note  was  sent  by  hand  and 
marked  "  Immediate."  Its  meaning  was  plain  enough. 
The  long-expected  verdict  had  come ;  Sir  James  must 
be  relieved ;  another  head  was  wanted  in  the  firm  of 
Muddock  and  Mead.  With  his  brain  still  full  of  Ora 
Pinsent  the  matter  of  the  message  seemed  remote  to 
Ashley,  but  he  forced  himself  to  descend  to  it.  He  was 
to  have  the  offer  of  a  partnership,  the  offer  of  great 
wealth,  the  opportunity  of  a  career  limited  only  by  his 
own  talents  and  no  longer  clogged  by  poverty.  Would 
the  offer  be  free,  or  hampered  by  a  tacit  unacknowl- 
edged understanding?  He  knew  well  enough  Sir 
James'  mind  about  his  future.  How  strange  that  future 
looked  in  the  after-glow  of  this  day !  Yet  what  future 
had  this  day?  Here  was  a  question  that  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  discuss  patiently.  Future  or  no  future, 
this  day  had  altered  his  life,  seemed  at  this  moment  to 
have  altered  it  so  completely  that  on  it  and  on  what  had 
happened  in  it  would  turn  his  answer  to  the  offer  of 
great  wealth  and  the  prospect  of  a  career.  Even  in  his 
own  thoughts  he  observed  that  reticence  about  Alice 
Muddock   which   would   have   governed  his  tongue   in 


A  DAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY        69 

speaking  of  her  to  another ;  but,  affect  as  he  would,  or 
thought  himself  obliged  to,  he  knew  that  she  formed  a 
factor  in  the  situation,  that  she  was  in  her  father's  mind 
when  he  wrote,  no  less  than  that  other  object  of  the  old 
man's  love,  the  great  firm  in  Buckingham  Palace  Road. 
"It's  strange,"  he  thought,  "that  the  thing,  after 
dragging  on  so  long,  should  come  to  a  head  now, 
to-night,  just  when  — ."  He  broke  off  his  reflexions 
and,  going  to  the  window,  looked  out  on  the  lights  of 
the  bridge  and  listened  to  the  lessening  noise  of  the 
town.  He  was  dimly  conscious  that  in  this  day  of  long 
idleness,  by  the  slow  low  river  and  in  the  little  inn,  he 
had  done  more  to  draw  the  lines  and  map  the  course  of 
his  life  than  in  any  hour  of  labour,  however  successful 
and  however  strenuous.  Fate  had  surprised  him  with  a 
point-blank  question,  the  Stand-and-deliver  of  a  direct 
choice.  Saying  he  would  think  it  all  over,  he  sat  late 
that  night.  But  thoughts  will  not  always  be  compelled 
and  disciplined ;  his  vigil  was  but  a  pictured  repetition 
of  the  day  that  he  had  lived.  The  day  had  been  Ora's 
day.     Hers  also  was  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AWAY  WITH  THE   RIBBONS  ! 

FEW  things  make  the  natural  man,  a  being  who  still 
occupies  a  large  apartment  in  the  soul  of  each  of 
us,  more  impatient  than  to  find  people  refusing  to  con- 
form to  his  idea  of  the  way  in  which  they  ought  to  seek 
and  find  happiness.  So  far  as  sane  and  sensible  folk 
are  concerned — there  is  no  need  to  bring  the  Asylums 
into  the  argument  —  his  way  is  the  way ;  deviations  from 
it,  whether  perversely  deliberate  or  instinctive  and  un- 
reasoned, are  so  many  wanderings  from  the  only  right 
track.  He  likes  money  —  then  only  fools  omit  to  strive 
for  it.  Stability  of  mind  is  his  ideal  —  what  more 
wretched  than  to  be  tossed  from  mood  to  mood?  A 
regular  life  is  the  sole  means  of  preserving  health  in 
stomach  and  brain  —  it  is  melancholy  to  see  persons 
preferring  haphazard  and  ill-regulated  existences.  Nay, 
it  makes  this  natural  man  rather  vexed  if  we  do  not  like 
his  furniture,  his  favourite  vegetable,  his  dentist,  and  so 
forth;  his  murmured  " De  gustibus"  has  a  touch  of 
scorn  in  it.  He  conceives  a  grudge  against  us  for  up- 
setting established  standards  of  excellence  in  matters  of 
life,  conduct,  upholstery,  and  the  table.  Our  likings  for 
people  in  whom  he  sees  nothing  puzzle  and  annoy  him 
equally ;  the  shrug  with  which  he  says,  of  a  newly  mar- 
ried couple  for  instance,  "  They  seem  very  happy,"  adds 
quite  clearly,  "  But  on  no  reasonable  grounds  have  they 
a  right  to  be,  and  in  my  heart  I  can't  quite  believe  they 
are." 


AWAY  WITH  THE   RIBBONS!     71 

Sir  James  Muddock  —  once  again  the  occasion  of 
generalisations  —  had  never  been  able  to  understand 
why  Ashley  Mead  did  not  jump  at  the  chance  of  Alice 
Muddock's  hand  and  a  share  in  Buckingham  Palace 
Road.  The  lad  was  poor,  his  prospects  were  uncertain, 
at  the  best  they  could  not  yield  wealth  as  Sir  James  had 
learnt  to  count  it;  the  prejudice  against  trade  is  only 
against  trade  on  a  small  scale ;  any  ambitions,  social  or 
political,  would  be  promoted,  not  thwarted,  by  his  entry 
into  the  firm.  As  for  Alice,  she  was  the  best  girl  in  the 
world,  clever,  kind,  trustworthy;  she  was  very  fond  of 
him ;  he  was  fond  of  her  and  appreciated  her  company. 
Ashley  was  turned  thirty ;  he  was  not  asked  to  surrender 
the  liberty  of  early  youth.  He  had  had  his  fling,  and  to 
sensible  men  this  fling  was  a  temporary  episode,  to  be 
enjoyed  and  done  with.  It  was  time  for  him  to  get  into 
harness;  the  harness  offered  was  very  handsome,  the 
manger  well  filled,  the  treatment  all  that  could  be  desired. 
When  Sir  James  summed  up  the  case  thus,  he  had  no 
suspicion  of  what  had  passed  during  one  Sunday  in  the 
country ;  it  is  fair  to  add  that  it  would  have  made  no 
difference  in  his  ideas,  if  he  had  known  of  it.  The  day 
in  the  country  with  Ora  Pinsent  would  have  been 
ticketed  as  part  of  the  fling  and  thus  relegated  to  after- 
dinner  memories.  Sir  James  did  not  understand  people 
to  whom  the  fling  was  more  than  an  episode,  to  whom 
all  life  went  on  being  a  series  of  flings  of  ever-changing 
dice,  till  at  last  and  only  in  old  age  the  box  fell  from 
paralysed  fingers.  Therefore  he  did  not  understand  all 
that  was  in  the  nature  of  Ashley  Mead ;  he  would  have 
understood  nothing  at  all  of  what  was  in  Ora  Pinsent's. 

Ashley's  decision  had  taken  itself,  as  it  seemed,  with- 
out any  help  or  effort  on  his  part.  Here  was  the  war- 
rant of  its  inevitability.     He  thought,  when  he  first  read 


72     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

the  old  man's  summons,  that  he  was  in  for  a  great  struggle 
and  faced  with  a  hard  problem,  with  an  anxious  weigh- 
ing of  facts  and  a  curious  forecast  of  possibilities,  that 
he  must  sit  down  to  the  scrutiny  in  idleness  and  solem- 
nity. But  somehow,  as  he  slept  or  dressed  or  break- 
fasted, between  glances  at  his  paper  and  whiffs  of  his 
pipe,  he  decided  to  refuse  many  thousands  a  year  and  to 
ignore  the  implied  offer  of  Alice  Muddock's  hand.  In 
themselves  thousands  were  good,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  said  against  them  ;  and  of  Alice  he  had  been  so  fond 
and  to  her  so  accustomed  that  for  several  years  back  he 
had  considered  her  as  his  most  likely  wife.  She  and  the 
thousands  were  now  dismissed  from  his  life  —  both  good 
things,  but  not  good  for  him.  He  sighed  once  with  a 
passing  wish  that  he  could  be  different ;  but  being  what 
he  was  he  felt  himself  hopelessly  at  war  with  Sir  James' 
scheme  as  a  whole,  and  with  every  part  of  it.  Contrast 
it  with  the  moods,  the  thoughts,  the  atmosphere  of  life 
which  had  filled  his  yesterday  !  And  yesterday's  was 
his  native  air ;  thus  it  seemed  to  him,  and  he  was  so  in- 
fected with  this  air  that  he  did  not  ask  whether  but  for 
yesterday  his  decision  would  have  been  as  easy  and 
unfaltering. 

The  old  man  was  hurt,  grieved,  and,  in  spite  of  pre- 
vious less  direct  rebuffs,  bitterly  disappointed ;  he  had 
not  thought  that  his  offer  would  be  refused  when  ex- 
pressly made ;  he  had  not  looked  to  see  his  hints  about 
his  daughter  more  openly  ignored  the  more  open  they 
themselves  became.  His  anger  expressed  itself  in  an  ulti- 
matum ;   he  flung  himself  back  in  his  elbow  chair,  saying, 

"  Well,  my  lad,  for  the  last  time,  take  it  or  leave  it. 
.  If  you  take  it,  we  '11  soon  put  you  through  your  facings,  and 
then  you  '11  be  the  best  head  in  the  business.     But  if  you 
won't  have  it,  I  must  take  in  somebody  else." 


AWAY   WITH   THE   RIBBONS!     73 

"  I  know,  Sir  James.  Don't  think  I  expect  you  to  go 
on  giving  me  chances." 

"  If  it 's  not  you,  it 's  got  to  be  Bertie  Jewett."  Bertie 
Jewett  was  Herbert,  son  of  Peter  Jewett  who  had  served 
through  all  the  changes  and  lately  died  as  Manager  in 
Buckingham  Palace  Road.  "  He  won't  refuse,  anyhow." 
The  tone  added,  "  He  's  not  such  a  fool." 

"  No,  he  's  not  such  an  ass  as  I  am,"  said  Ashley, 
answering  the  tone  and  smiling  at  poor  Sir  James  with 
an  appealing  friendliness. 

"  That  's  your  word,  not  mine ;  but  I  'm  not  going  to 
quarrel  with  it,"  said  Sir  James  without  a  sign  of  soften- 
ing. "What  you  're  after  I  can't  see.  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

Ashley  found  himself  unable  to  tell  the  Head  of  the 
Firm  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  can  get  along,"  he  said  lamely.  "  I  make  a  bit 
writing  for  the  papers,  and  there 's  a  brief  once  in  a  blue 
moon ;  and  of  course  I  've  got  a  little ;  and  this  secre- 
taryship helps  for  the  time." 

This  beggarly  catalogue  of  inadequate  means  increased 
Sir  James'  scorn  and  bewilderment. 

"Are  you  above  it?"  he  asked  with  sudden  heat. 

"  Good  God,  sir,  don't  think  me  a  snob  as  well  as  an 
ass,"  prayed  Ashley. 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  you  do  want." 

Matters  seemed  to  have  reached  a  standstill.  But  Sir 
James  had  a  last  shot  in  his  locker. 

"  Go  up  and  lunch  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens,"  he 
said.  "  Talk  it  over  with  the  ladies,  talk  it  over  with 
Alice." 

Ashley  wanted  to  refuse  ;  on  this  day  he  had  no  desire 
to  see  Alice.     But  refusal  seemed  impossible. 

"  All  right,  Sir  James,  I  will,"  he  said. 

"  Take  a  week,  take  a  week  more.     If  you  say  no 


74     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

then,  it 's  Bertie  Jewett  —  and  your  chance  is  gone  for 
ever.  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  make  a  fool  of  your- 
self." Affection  mingling  with  wrath  in  the  entreaty 
made  it  harder  to  resist. 

Ashley  walked  off  with  the  last  words  ringing  in  his 
ears;  they  recalled  Lord  Bowdon  and  the  Athenaeum 
corner.  After  reflexion  and  against  inclination  Bowdon 
had  determined  not  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  and  had 
intrenched  his  resolution  with  apparent  security  agoinst 
the  possibility  of  a  relapse  into  a  less  sensible  course. 
Here  was  Ashley's  example ;  but  he  shied  at  it. 

"And  how  the  devil  am  I  to  talk  to  Alice  about 
it?"  he  exclaimed  petulantly,  as  he  struck  across  the 
front  of  Buckingham  Palace  and  headed  up  Consti- 
tution Hill.  There  had  been  a  general  impression  that 
he  would  marry  Alice  Muddock,  and  a  general  impres- 
sion about  us  assumes  to  ourselves  a  vaguely  obligatory 
force.  We  may  not  justify  it,  but  we  feel  the  need  for 
some  apology  if  we  refuse.  Besides  Ashley  had,  up  to 
a  certain  point,  shared  the  impression,  although  in  a 
faint  far-off  way,  regarding  the  suggested  alliance  not  as 
the  aim  of  his  life  but  as  a  possible  and  not  unaccept- 
able bourn  of  his  youth.  His  entrance  into  the  firm 
was  a  topic  so  closely  connected  that  he  felt  much  awk- 
wardness in  discussing  it  with  Alice  Muddock.  Of  her 
feelings  he  thought  less  than  of  his  own ;  he  was  not  by 
nature  a  selfish  man,  but  he  had  now  fallen  into  the 
selfishness  of  a  great  pre-occupation.  The  smallest  joy 
or  the  lightest  sorrow  for  Ora  Pinsent  would  have  filled 
his  mind.  It  is  difficult  to  feel  in  anything  like  this  way 
towards  more  than  one  person  at  a  time.  His  sympathy 
for  Alice  Muddock  was  blunted  and  he  excused  its 
want  of  acuteness  by  an  affected  modesty  which  ques- 
tioned her  concern  in  him. 


AWAY  WITH   THE   RIBBONS!     75 

It  chanced  that  Lady  Kilnorton  was  at  lunch.  She 
seemed  in  high  spirits  and  talked  vigorously.  Her 
theme  was  the  artistic  temperament;  she  blamed  its 
slavishness  to  the  moment.  Lady  Muddock  showed  an 
anxiety  to  be  furnished  with  details  for  purposes  of  in- 
creased disapproval;  Alice  was  judicial.  One  man 
among  three  women,  Ashley  would  have  been  content 
to  listen,  but,  when  appealed  to,  he  defended  the  as- 
persed disposition.  He  felt  the  conversation  approach- 
ing Ora  Pinsent,  step  by  step  ;  she  was  in  all  their  minds ; 
the  only  case  in  point  known  to  Lady  Muddock,  the  in- 
stance most  interesting  to  Alice,  an  unwelcome  persistent 
presence  to  Irene,  to  him  a  subject  to  be  neither  en- 
couraged nor  avoided  without  risk  of  self-betrayal.  It 
was  curious  how  she  had  come  into  the  circle  of  their 
lives,  and  having  entered  seemed  to  dominate  it.  But 
presently  he  grew  sure  of  his  face  and,  for  the  rest,  pre- 
ferred that  they  should  abuse  her  rather  than  not  speak 
of  her;  he  grudged  every  abstraction  of  his  thoughts 
which  banished  her  image. 

The  discussion  brought  its  trials.  Irene's  well- 
restrained  jealousy  and  Lady  Muddock's  inquisitive 
disapproval  were  merely  amusing  ;  it  was  Alice's 
judicial  attitude  which  stirred  him  to  resentment.  Tc? 
assess  and  assay  with  this  cold-blooded  scientific  accu- 
racy seemed  inhuman,  almost  from  its  excess  of  science 
unscientific,  since  it  was  a  method  so  unsuited  to  the 
subject. 

"  Now  take  Ora,"  said  Irene,  at  last  grasping  the 
nettle.  "  There  's  nothing  she  wouldn't  do  for  you  at 
one  moment,  the  next  she  wouldn't  do  anything  at  all 
for  you." 

"For  her  acquaintances,  you  mean?"    Alice  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear.     For  anybody,  for  her  best  friend. 


76     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

You  can't  call  her  either  good  or  bad.  She 's  just  fluke, 
pure  fluke." 

"  Well,  I  know  it 's  the  thing  to  pretend  not  to  like 
flukes  —  "  Ashley  began.  The  thin  jocularity  served  for 
a  shield. 

"  Oh,  what's  the  use  of  asking  a  man?  He  just  sees 
her  face,  that 's  all.  Nobody 's  denying  her  looks." 
Lady  Kilnorton  seemed  petulant. 

"  Of  course  a  life  like  hers,"  observed  Lady  Muddock, 
"  is  very  demoralising." 

"My  dear  Lady  Muddock,  why?"  asked  Ashley, 
growing  exasperated. 

"  Well,  I  only  know  what  Minna  Soames  says,  and  —  " 

"  Mother  dear,  Minna  Soames  is  a  goose,"  Alice  re- 
marked. Ashley  was  grateful,  but  still  with  reservations 
as  to  the  judicial  tone. 

Irene  Kilnorton,  engaged  in  her  secret  task  of  justify- 
ing herself  and  taking  a  rosy  view  of  Bowdon's  feelings, 
talked  more  for  her  own  ends  than  for  those  of  the 
company. 

"  That  sort  of  people  suit  one  another  very  well,"  she 
went  on.  "  They  know  what  to  expect  of  each  other. 
Harm  comes  only  when  people  of  a  different  sort  get 
entangled  with  them." 

"  You  're  vague,"  said  Ashley.  "  What  different  sort?  " 
He  had  partly  fathomed  her  mood  now,  and  his  eyes 
were  mischievous  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Sensible  people,  Mr.  Mead."  There  was  a  touch  of 
asperity  in  the  brief  retort,  which  made  a  thrust  from 
him  seem  excusable. 

"  Suppose  Lord  Bowdon  had  never  seen  you,"  he 
said  with  plausible  gravity,  "  and,  being  in  that  state  of 
darkness,  had  fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Pinsent ;  would  it 
have  been  so  very  surprising?  " 


AWAY   WITH   THE   RIBBONS!     77 

"  Very,"  said  Irene  Kilnorton. 

"  And  dreadful?" 

"  Well,  bad  for  him.  He  'd  never  have  got  on  with 
her  and  —  " 

"  There  's  Mr.  Fenning,"  interposed  Alice  with  a  quiet 
laugh.  A  moment's  pause  ensued.  Ashley  had  been 
startled  at  the  introduction  of  the  name,  but  he  re- 
covered himself  directly. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "of  course  there's  Mr.  Fenning. 
I  'd  forgotten  him.  But  he  's  quite  accidental.  Leave 
him  out.     He  's  not  part  of  the  case." 

"  But  there  's  so  often  a  Mr.  Fenning,"  Alice  per- 
sisted.    "  Can  he  be  considered  quite  accidental?  " 

Ashley  had  made  much  the  same  remark  in  different 
words  to  Irene  Kilnorton  a  few  weeks  before ;  but  re- 
marks do  not  bear  transplanting. 

"  Isn't  that  rather  a  traditional  view?  "  he  asked. 

"You  mean  a  prejudiced  one?" 

"  Well,  yes." 

"  I  suppose  so.  But  prejudices  start  somehow,  don't 
they?"  Her  smile  was  very  gentle,  but  still,  to  his 
mind,  horribly  aloof  and  judicial.  Could  she  not  under- 
stand how  a  woman  might  be  carried  away,  and  blunder 
into  a  Mr.  Fenning,  per  incuriam  and  all  in  a  minute  (so 
to  speak)  ?  In  such  a  case  was  it  to  be  expected  that 
the  Mr.  Fenning  in  question  should  be  all  in  all  to  her? 
In  some  ways  perhaps  she  must  acknowledge  his  exist- 
ence; but  at  any  rate  she  needn't  Darby-and-Joan  it 
with  him ! 

"  Poor  dear  Ora !  "  said  Irene  Kilnorton  after  a  pause. 
Yet  she  was  not  naturally  malicious  any  more  than 
Ashley  Mead  was  naturally  selfish.  If  we  are  responsi- 
ble for  the  moods  we  raise  in  others  Miss  Pinsent's 
account  was  mounting  up.     Ashley  allowed  himself  the 


78     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

retort  of  a  laugh  as  Lady  Muddock  rose  from  the 
table. 

"  I  came  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said  to  Alice,  as  she 
passed  him. 

"  Then  drink  your  coffee  quick,  and  come  into  the 
garden,"  she  answered  with  her  usual  frank  kindness. 
When  she  looked  at  him  her  aspect  and  air  became  less 
judicial. 

In  the  garden  he  opened  the  subject  of  Sir  James' 
proposal ;  his  eyes  were  set  straight  in  front  of  him,  hers 
on  the  ground.  Her  answer  would  have  dismayed  Sir 
James,  and  it  surprised  Ashley.  She  was  energetically, 
almost  passionately,  opposed  to  his  entering  the  business. 

"It's  not  your  line,  or  your  taste,  or  your  proper 
work,"  she  said.  "What's  the  good  of  being  rich  if 
you're  doing  what  you  hate  all  the  time?  " 

"  I  felt  just  like  that,"  he  said  gratefully,  "  but  I  was 
afraid  that  I  felt  like  it  because  I  was  a  fool." 

"  You  can  make  your  own  way.  Don't  sell  yourself 
to  the  business." 

He  glanced  at  her  stealthily;  her  colour  had  risen 
and  her  lip  trembled.  Did  she  think  of  anything  be- 
sides the  business  when  she  bade  him  not  sell  himself? 
A  moment  later  she  laughed  uneasily,  as,  with  a  refer- 
ence to  the  conversation  at  lunch,  she  said. 

"  You  Ve  too  much  of  the  artistic  temperament  for 
Buckingham  Palace  Road." 

"I?  I  the  artistic  temperament?"  He  accepted  the 
trite  phrase  as  a  useful  enough  symbol  of  what  they  both 
meant. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  steadily.     "  A  good  deal  of  it." 

"  Then  I  come  under  Irene  Kilnorton's  censures?" 

"Under  a  good  many  of  them,  yes." 

Something  in  her  manner  again  annoyed  and  piqued 


AWAY   WITH   THE  RIBBONS!     79 

him.  She  was  judging  again,  and  judging  him.  But 
she  was  interesting  him  also.  She  spoke  of  him ;  she 
knew  him  well :  and  just  now  he  was  in  some  doubt  about 
himself. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  seeking  to 
draw  her  out. 

"  Oh,  things  carry  you  away ;  and  you  like  it.  You 
don't  want  to  get  to  a  comfortable  place  and  stay  there. 
I  *m  not  saying  anything  you  mind  ?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  think  so,  at  least." 

She  glanced  at  him  full  for  a  moment  as  she  said. 

"  I  never  think  anything  you  'd  mind,  Ashley." 
Then  she  went  on  hastily.  "  But  you  must  be  prepared 
to  see  Bertie  Jewett  in  great  prosperity  —  a  big  house  and 
so  on  —  and  to  know  it  might  all  have  been  yours." 

"  I  'm  prepared  for  that,"  he  said  absently.  He  did 
not  at  all  realise  the  things  he  was  abandoning. 

"  But  of  course  you  '11  get  on.  You  '11  be  something 
better  than  rich." 

"  Perhaps,  if  I  don't—  don't  play  the  fool." 

"  You  keep  calling  yourself  a  fool  to-day.  Why  do 
you?     You  're  not  a  fool." 

"  It's  only  a  way  of  speaking  and  not  quite  my  own  way, 
really,"  he  laughed.  "  It  means  if  I  don't  enjoy  life  a 
little  instead  of  spoiling  it  all  by  trying  to  get  something 
that  isn't  particularly  well  worth  having ;  it  means,  in  fact, 
if  I  don't  allow  scope  to  my  artistic  temperament."  It 
meant  also  if  he  did  not  spend  more  days  in  the  country 
with  Ora  Pinsent;  for  though  he  did  not  (as  he  had 
hinted)  call  that  folly  to  himself,  he  was  now  on  his  de- 
fence against  a  world  which  would  call  it  folly  with  no 
doubtful  voice,  and  would  exhort  him  earnestly  to  imi- 
tate Lord  Bowdon's  decisive  measures  of  self-protection. 
It  was  in  the  power  of  this  clear-sighted  girl  thus  to  put 


80     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

him  on  his  defence,  even  in  the  full  swing  of  his  attrac- 
tion towards  Ora  Pinsent ;  better  than  anyone,  she  could 
shew  him  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  He  fell  into  a 
silence  occupied  with  puzzled  thoughts.  She  grew 
grave,  except  for  a  sober  little  smile ;  she  was  thinking 
that  it  was  easy  to  be  wise  for  others,  for  all  the  world 
except  herself;  while  she  was  playing  the  judicial  pru- 
dent friend  to  him,  the  idea  of  another  part  was  in  her 
head.  There  may  be  hope  without  expectation;  it 
would  not  have  been  human  in  her  to  hope  nothing  from 
this  talk  in  the  garden,  to  build  no  fancies  on  it.  But  she 
rebuked  her  imagination ;  whatever  it  was  that  filled  his 
mind  —  and  his  occasional  air  of  distraction  had  caught 
her  notice  —  she  had  little  share  in  it,  she  knew  that  well. 

"  The  talk  at  lunch  was  a  propos"  she  said  presently. 
"  I  'm  going  to  call  on  Miss  Pinsent  this  afternoon." 

"  You  're  going  to  call  —  ?  "  The  surprise  was  plain 
in  his  voice.  This  sudden  throwing  of  the  two  together 
seemed  an  odd  trick  of  circumstances  !  His  tone  brought 
her  eyes  quickly  round  to  him  and  she  looked  at  him 
steadily. 

"Why  not?  She  asked  me.  I  told  you  so,"  she 
said.  Ashley  could  not  deny  it;  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders.     "  Shan't  I  like  her?" 

"  Everybody  must  like  her,  I  think,"  he  answered, 
awkward,  almost  abashed.  But  then  there  came  on  him 
a  desire  to  talk  about  Ora,  not  so  much  to  justify  him- 
self as  to  tell  another  what  she  was,  to  exhibit  her  charm, 
to  infect  a  hearer  with  his  own  fever.  He  contrived  to 
preserve  a  cool  tone,  aiming  at  what  might  seem  a  dis- 
passionate analysis  of  a  fascination  which  everybody  ad- 
mitted to  exist ;  but  he  was  at  once  too  copious  and  too 
happy  in  his  description  and  his  images.  The  girl  beside 
him  listened  with  that  little  smile  ;   it  could  not  be  merry, 


AWAY   WITH   THE  RIBBONS!      81 

she  would  not  let  it  grow  bitter,  but  schooled  it  to  the 
neutrality  of  polite  attention.  She  soon  saw  the  state  of 
his  mind  and  the  discovery  was  hard  for  her  to  bear.  Yet 
it  was  not  so  hard  as  if  he  had  come  to  tell  her  of  an  or- 
dinary attachment,  of  a  decorous  engagement  to  some 
young  lady  of  their  common  acquaintance,  and  of  a  de- 
corous marriage  to  follow  in  due  course.  Then  she 
would  have  asked,  "  Why  her  and  not  me?"  With  Ora 
Pinsent  no  such  question  was  possible.  Neither  for 
good  nor  for  evil  could  any  comparison  be  drawn. 
And  another  thought  crept  in,  although  she  did  not  give 
it  willing  admittance.  Ora  was  not  only  exceptional; 
she  was  impossible.  Impossibility  might  be  nothing  to 
him  now,  but  it  could  not  remain  nothing  for  ever.  The 
pain  was  there,  but  the  disaster  not  irrevocable.  Among 
the  somewhat  strange  chances  which  had  marked  the 
life  of  Mr.  Fenning  there  was  now  to  be  reckoned  a 
certain  shamefaced  comfort  which  he  all  unwittingly 
afforded  to  Alice  Muddock.  But  Alice  was  not  proud 
of  the  alliance. 

Ashley  broke  off  in  a  mixture  of  remorse  and  embar- 
rassment. His  description  could  not  be  very  grateful  to 
its  hearer ;  it  must  have  come  very  near  to  betraying  its 
utterer.  Alice  did  not  pretend  that  it  left  her  quite  in 
the  dark ;  she  laughed  a  little  and  said  jokingly : 

"  One  would  think  you  were  in  love  with  her.  I  sup- 
pose it's  that  artistic  temperament  again.  Well,  this 
afternoon  I  '11  look  and  see  whether  she  's  really  all  you 
say.     The  male  judgment  needs  correction." 

As  their  talk  went  on  he  perceived  in  her  a  brighten- 
ing of  spirits,  a  partial  revival  of  serenity,  a  sort  of  relief; 
they  came  as  a  surprise  to  him.  The  lightness  with 
which  she  now  spoke  of  Ora  appeared,  to  a  large  degree 
at   least,    genuine.     He   did   not   understand    that   she 

6 


82    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

attributed  to  him,  in  more  sincerity  than  her  manner  had 
suggested,  the  temper  which  had  formed  the  subject  of 
their  half-serious  half-jesting  talk.  Her  impression  of 
him  did  not  make  him  less  attractive  to  her ;  he  was  not 
all  of  the  temper  she  blamed  and  feared  ;  he  had,  she  per- 
suaded herself,  just  enough  of  it  to  save  him  from  the 
purely  ribbon-selling  nature  and  (here  came  the  point 
to  which  she  fondly  conducted  herself)  to  give  her  both 
hope  and  patience  in  regard  to  her  own  relations  with 
him.  She  could  not  help  picturing  herself  as  the  fixed 
point  to  which  he  would,  after  his  veerings,  return  in  the 
end ;  meanwhile  his  share  of  the  temperament  excused 
the  veerings.  Lady  Kilnorton  had  forced  the  game  with 
entire  apparent  success,  but  Alice's  quick  eyes  ques- 
tioned the  real  completeness  of  that  victory.  She  would 
play  a  waiting  game.  There  was  no  question  of  an 
orthodox  marriage  with  the  young  lady  from  over  the 
way  or  round  the  corner,  an  arrangement  which  would 
have  been  odious  in  its  commonplace  humiliation  and 
heart-breaking  in  its  orderly  finality.  But  Ora  Pinsent 
was  not  a  finality,  any  more  than  she  was  the  embodi- 
ment of  an  orderly  arrangement.  That  fortunate  impos- 
sibility which  attached  to  her,  by  virtue  of  Jack  Fenning's 
existence,  forbade  despair,  just  as  her  fascination  and  her 
irresistibility  seemed  to  prevent  humiliation  and  lessen 
jealousy.  The  thing  was  a  transient  craze,  such  as 
men  fell  into ;  it  would  pass.  If  she  joined  her  life  to 
Ashley  Mead's  she  was  prepared  (so  she  assured  herself) 
for  such  brief  wanderings  of  allegiance,  now  and  then ; 
as  time  went  on,  they  would  grow  fewer  and  fewer,  until 
at  last  she  conquered  altogether  the  tendency  towards 
them.  "  And  she  must  be  ten  years  older  than  I  am," 
her  reflections  ended ;  that  the  real  interval  was  but 
seven  did  not  destroy  the  importance  of  the  point. 


AWAY   WITH   THE   RIBBONS!     83 

Having  offered  Ashley  a  lift  to  Piccadilly,  she  went  off 
to  get  ready,  and  presently  Bowdon,  who  had  called  to 
pick  up  Irene,  strolled  into  the  garden  for  a  cigarette. 

"  Hullo,  what  are  you  doing  here?  You  ought  to  be 
making  your  living,"  he  cried  good-humouredly. 

"  I  've  been  throwing  it  away  instead,"  said  Ashley. 
"  Should  you  like  to  be  a  partner  in  Muddock  and 
Mead?" 

"A  sleeping  one,"  said  Bowdon  with  a  meditative 
pull  at  his  moustache. 

Ashley  explained  that  he  would  have  been  expected 
to  take  an  active  part.  Bowdon  evidently  thought  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  glad  to  take  any  part,  and  re- 
buked him  for  his  refusal. 

"  Take  the  offer  and  marry  the  girl,"  he  counselled. 
"  She'd  have  you  all  right,  and  she  seems  a  very  good 
sort" 

"  I  don't  feel  like  settling  down  all  of  a  sudden,"  said 
Ashley  with  a  smile. 

They  walked  side  by  side  for  a  few  paces ; .  then 
Bowdon  remarked, 

"  Depend  upon  it,  it 's  a  good  thing  to  do,  though." 

"  It's  a  question  of  the  best  date,"  said  Ashley,  much 
amused  at  his  companion.  "Now  at  your  age,  Lord 
Bowdon  —  " 

"  Confound  you,  Ashley,  I  'm  not  a  hundred  !  I  say 
it's  a  good  thing  to  do.  And,  by  Jove,  when  it  means 
a  lump  of  money  too  !  " 

A  pause  followed ;  they  walked  and  smoked  in  silence. 

"  Good  creatures,  women,"  remarked  Bowdon. 

Ashley  did  not  find  the  remark  abrupt ;  he  traced  its 
birth.  Alice  had  left  much  the  same  impression  behind 
her  in  his  mind. 

"  Awfully,"  he  answered ;  there  was  in  his  voice  also 


84     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

a  note  of  remorse,  of  the  feeling  that  comes  when  we 
cannot  respond  to  a  kindness  so  liberally  as  it  deserves. 

"  Of  course  they  aren't  all  alike,  though,"  pursued 
Bowdon,  as  though  he  were  reasoning  out  an  intricate 
subject  and  coming  on  unexpected  conclusions.  "  In 
fact  they  differ  curiously,  wonderfully." 

His  thoughts  had  passed,  or  were  passing,  from  Irene 
Kilnorton  to  Ora  Pinsent;  obedient  to  this  guidance 
Ashley's  followed  in  a  parallel  track  from  Alice  Mud- 
dock  to  Ora  Pinsent. 

"  They  're  charming  in  different  ways,"  said  he  with  a 
slight  laugh.  Bowdon  shewed  no  signs  of  mirth;  he 
was  frowning  a  little  and  smoked  rather  fast. 

"  And  men  are  often  great  asses,"  he  observed  a  few 
moments  later.  Again  Ashley  had  kept  pace,  but  his 
face  was  more  doubtful  than  his  companion's  and  there 
was  hesitation  in  his  voice  as  he  replied, 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  they  are." 

This  subterranean  conversation,  shewing  above 
ground  only  faint  indications  of  what  it  really  meant  to 
each  of  the  talkers,  had  carried  them  to  the  end  of  the 
garden.  Turning  round  at  the  fence,  they  saw  Irene 
and  Alice  walking  towards  them,  side  by  side.  Both 
ladies  were  well  dressed,  Irene  rather  brilliantly,  Alice 
with  quiet,  subdued  good  taste ;  both  seemed  attractive, 
Irene  for  her  bright  vivacity  and  merry  kindness, 
Alice  for  her  strength  of  regard  and  a  fine  steady 
friendliness.  A  man  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  gain 
either  of  them  would  win  a  wife  of  whom  he  might 
justly  be  proud  when  he  talked  with  the  enemy  in  the 
gate,  and  moreover  would  enjoy  an  unusually  good  pros- 
pect of  being  happy  in  his  own  house.  The  man  who  had 
won  one,  and  the  man  who  could,  if  he  would,  win  the 
other,  approached  them  in  a  slow  leisurely  stroll. 


AWAY  WITH   THE   RIBBONS!     85 

"  Yes,  great  asses,"  repeated  Bowdon  in  a  reflective 
tone. 

"  I  didn't  say  we  weren't,"  protested  Ashley  Mead 
with  an  irritated  laugh. 

They  would  have  found  a  most  heartfelt  endorsement 
of  the  view  which  they  reluctantly  adopted,  had  Sir 
James  Muddock  known  how  small  a  share  of  Ashley's 
visit  had  been  honestly  devoted  to  a  consideration  of 
the  advantages  of  a  partnership  in  Muddock  and  Mead, 
and  how  much  larger  a  part  had  been  given  to  a  subject 
concerning  which  Sir  James  could  have  only  one 
opinion. 


CHAPTER  VII 

UNDER  THE  NOSEGAY 

WHEN  Alice  Muddock  reached  Ora's  little  house 
in  Chelsea  and  was  shewn  into  the  drawing- 
room,  she  found  herself  enjoying  an  introduction  to  Mr. 
Sidney  Hazlewood  and  forced  to  shake  hands  with 
Babba  Flint.  Hazlewood  struck  her  favourably;  there 
was  a  repressed  resolution  about  him,  a  suggestion  of 
being  able  to  get  most  of  what  he  might  happen  to 
want ;  no  doubt,  though,  his  desires  would  be  limited  and 
mainly  professional.  Babba  was,  as  usual,  quite  inex- 
plicable to  her  and  almost  intolerable.  The  pair  had, 
it  seemed,  come  on  business,  and,  after  an  apology,  Ora 
went  on  talking  business  to  them  for  fully  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  She  was  in  a  businesslike,  even  a  commercial 
money-grubbing  mood ;  so  were  the  men ;  amid  a 
number  of  technical  terms  which  fell  on  Alice's  ignorant 
ears  the  question  of  what  they  would  make  was  always 
coming  uppermost.  There  was  indeed  a  touch  of  insin- 
cerity in  Ora's  graspingness ;  it  did  not  seem  exactly 
affectation,  but  rather  like  a  part  for  which  she  was  cast 
on  this  occasion  and  into  which  she  threw  herself  with 
artistic  zeal.  She  had  to  play  up  to  her  companions. 
There  was  in  her  neither  the  quiet  absorption  in  the 
pecuniary  aspect  which  marked  Mr.  Hazlewood,  nor 
the  tremulous  eagerness  with  which  Babba  counted  im- 
aginary thousands,  the  fruit  of  presupposed  successes. 
Hazlewood,  a  clean-shaven  hard-lined  man  of  close  on 


UNDER   THE   NOSEGAY  87 

fifty,  and  Babba  with  his  long  moustache,  his  smooth 
cheeks,  his  dandiness,  and  his  youth,  treated  Ora  exactly 
in  the  same  way  —  first  as  a  possible  partner,  then  as 
a  possible  property.  They  told  her  what  she  would 
make  if  she  became  a  partner  and  how  much  they 
could  afford  to  pay  her  as  a  property  if  she  would  hire 
herself  out  to  them.  Ora  had  her  alternative  capacities 
clearly  grasped  and  weighed  their  relative  advantages 
with  a  knowing  hand.  Alice  thought  it  a  strange  scene 
by  which  to  make  her  first  more  intimate  study  of  the 
irresistible  impossible  Miss  Pinsent,  the  Miss  Pinsent  of 
uncontrollable  emotions  and  unknowable  whims.  What 
images  the  world  made  of  people !  Yet  somehow,  in 
the  end,  had  not  the  world  a  way  of  being  just  right 
enough  to  save  its  credit? 

At  last  the  conference  appeared  to  be  about  to  break 
up.  Alice  was  almost  sorry ;  she  could  have  gone  on 
learning  from  it. 

"  Only  remember,"  said  Mr.  Hazlewood,  "  that  if  we 
do  make  a  deal,  why,  it  is  a  deal !  " 

Ora  began  to  laugh  ;  an  agreement  was  an  agreement, 
she  remembered,  and  a  deal,  by  parity  of  reasoning,  a 
deal.  Hazlewood's  wrinkle  clamoured  for  seriousness  ; 
hard  money  was  at  stake,  and  over  that  surely  even 
genius  could  look  grave. 

"  Oh,  she  won't  want  to  cry  off  this,"  said  Babba  with 
a  sagacious  nod. 

Alice  had  never  known  how  Babba  lived  (any  more 
than  she  knew  why).  It  appeared  now  that  he  supported 
himself  by  speculations  of  this  description ;  she  fancied 
that  he  asserted  himself  so  much  because  the  other  two 
seemed  to  consider  him,  in  the  end,  rather  superfluous ; 
more  than  once  he  had  to  remind  them  that  he  was 
indispensable  ;  they  yielded  the  point  good-naturedly. 


88     A   SERVANT   OF  THE  PUBLIC 

She  was  interrupted  in  her  thoughts  by  Hazlewood,  who 
made  a  suave  remark  to  her  and  held  out  his  hand  with 
a  low  bow.  Ora  was  chaffing  Babba  about  a  very  large 
flower  in  his  buttonhole. 

"Is  Miss  Pinsent  a  good  woman  of  business?  "  Alice 
asked  in  an  impulse  of  curiosity. 

Hazlewood  glanced  at  Ora ;  she  was  entirely  occupied 
with  Babba. 

"  Miss  Pinsent,"  said  he,  with  his  overworked  but  still 
expressive  smile,  "  is  just  exactly  what  you  happen  to 
find  her.  But  if  you  call  often  enough,  there  '11  come  a 
time  when  you  '11  find  her  with  a  good  head  on  her 
shoulders." 

Alice  felt  vaguely  sorry  for  Mr.  Hazlewood ;  it  must 
be  wearing  to  deal  with  such  unstable  quantities.  She 
could  imagine  herself  exchanging  sympathy  with  him 
on  the  vagaries  of  the  artistic  temperament ;  would  she 
grow  a  wrinkle,  of  brow  or  of  heart,  over  Ashley  Mead  ? 
Or  had  she  grown  one? 

"  Well,  you  've  had  a  lot  of  experience  of  her,  haven't 
you?"  she  asked,  laughing,  and  wondering  what  he 
thought  of  Ora.  His  answer  expressed  no  great 
affection. 

"  Good  Lord,  yes,"  he  sighed,  furrowing  his  brow 
again. 

Ora  darted  up  to  him,  put  an  arm  through  his,  and 
clasped  her  hands  over  his  sleeve. 

"Abusing  me?"  she  said,  turning  her  face  round  to 
his.  For  a  moment  Alice  thought  that  she  was  going 
to  kiss  him  and  hoped  vaguely  she  would  not;  but  she 
felt  that  she  did  not  know  the  etiquette ;  it  might  be 
usual. 

"  Telling  the  truth,"  said  Mr.  Hazlewood  with  stout 
courage ;  then  with  pronounced  gallantry  he  raised  his 


UNDER   THE   NOSEGAY  89 

arm  with  Ora's  hands  on  it  and  kissed  one  of  the  hands  ; 
his  manner  now  was  quite  different  from  his  business 
manner  of  a  few  moments  ago ;  his  eyes  were  different 
too,  hardly  affectionate,  but  very  indulgent. 

"  He  likes  me  really,  you  know,  though  I  worry  him 
dreadfully,"  said  Ora  to  Alice. 

Babba  came  up;  he  had  been  arranging  the  big 
flower  before  a  mirror. 

"Seen  Lady  Kilnorton  lately?  She's  brought  it  off 
with  Bowdon,  I  hear,"  he  said  to  Alice. 

"  She  's  engaged  to  Lord  Bowdon,"  said  Alice  stiffly. 

"  Deuced  lucky  woman,"  observed  Babba,  blind  to  the 
rebuke  which  lay  in  Alice's  formality  of  phrase. 

"  Take  him  away,"  Ora  commanded  Mr.  Hazlewood. 
"  We  've  done  with  him  and  we  don't  want  him  any  more. 
We  aren't  sure  we  like  him." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  I  ain't  a  bad  chap,  Miss  Pinsent," 
pleaded  Babba  piteously. 

"  We  're  not  at  all  sure  we  like  him,"  said  Ora  inex- 
orably. "  Take  him  away  at  once,  please,  Mr.  Hazle- 
wood." And  Hazlewood  led  him  out,  protesting 
bitterly. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Ora  moved  about,  touching  the 
furniture  into  the  places  in  which  she  wanted  it,  and 
fingering  the  flowers  in  the  vases.  Then  she  came 
quickly  to  Alice,  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  cried 
expansively, 

11  It 's  really  charming  of  you  to  come.  And  you  're 
like  —  you  're  like  something  —  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  I 
mean  you  're  a  lovely  change  from  those  men  and  their 
business  and  their  money." 

"  I  like  Mr.  Hazlewood." 

"  Oh,  so  do  I.  But  my  life  's  so  much  Mr.  Hazlewood. 
Why  did  you  come?" 


90    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  You  asked  me,"  said  Alice. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  I  hardly  thought  you'd  come." 
She  darted  back  to  the  previous  conversation.  "  I  'm 
going  to  make  a  lot  of  money,  though,  and  then  I 'm 
going  to  have  a  long  holiday,  and  a  villa  somewhere 
in  Italy." 

"  Oh,  they  won't  let  you  rest  long." 

"  It  won't  be  very  long  really,  because  I  shall  spend 
all  the  money,"  Ora  explained  with  a  smile.  "Let's 
have  some  tea." 

She  rang,  and  tea  was  brought  by  a  very  respectable 
middle-aged  woman.  Ora  addressed  her  maid  as  Janet 
and  gave  her  a  series  of  orders ;  Janet  listened  to  them 
with  a  non-committal  air,  as  though  she  would  consider 
whether  they  were  reasonable  or  not,  and  act  according 
to  her  conclusion.  Alice  noticed  that  she  called  her 
mistress  "  Ma'am ;  "  the  reference  to  Mr.  Fenning  was 
very  indirect,  but  it  was  the  first  that  Alice  had  ever 
heard  made  in  Ora's  presence.  It  seemed  to  her  also 
that  Janet  laid  some  slight  emphasis  on  the  designation, 
as  though  it  served,  or  might  be  made  to  serve,  some 
purpose  besides  that  of  indicating  the  proper  respect  of 
a  servant.  She  found  herself  wondering  whether  Janet 
dated  from  the  time  when  Mr.  Fenning  was  still  a  present 
fact  and  formed  a  member  of  the  united  Fenning  house- 
hold (which,  by  the  way,  was  an  odd  entity  to  contem- 
plate). If  that  were  the  case,  a  conversation  with  Janet 
might  be  very  interesting ;  knowledge  might  be  gained 
about  the  bulwark ;  Alice  had  begun  to  look  on  Mr. 
Fenning  as  a  bulwark  —  and  to  tell  herself  that  she  did 
no  such  thing. 

A  large  number  of  photographs  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece and  about  the  room,  most  of  them  signed  by  their 
originals.     Many  were   of  men;    one  might  be  of  Mr. 


UNDER  THE   NOSEGAY  91 

Penning.  A  silver  frame  stood  on  a  little  table  just  by 
the  sofa.  Alice's  intuitive  perception  told  her  that  here 
was  Ora's  favourite  place ;  her  traditions  caused  her  to 
conclude  that  the  frame  (its  back  was  towards  her)  held 
Mr.  Fenning's  portrait.  She  was  not  undiplomatic,  only 
less  diplomatic  than  many  other  women;  she  took  a 
tour  of  inspection,  saying  how  pretty  the  room  was  and 
declaring  that  she  must  look  closer  at  the  photograph 
of  an  eminent  tragedian  on  the  opposite  wall.  Her  re- 
turn movement  shewed  her  the  face  of  the  portrait 
which  she  had  guessed  to  be  Mr.  Fenning's ;  it  was  that 
of  her  friend  Ashley  Mead. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ora,  "  he  sent  me  that  yesterday.  I  was 
so  glad  to  have  it." 

"You  gave  him  a  return?"  asked  Alice  with  a  care- 
less laugh,  the  laugh  appropriate  to  the  moment. 

"  He  chose  one  and  I  wrote  on  it.  Sugar,  Miss 
Muddock?" 

Alice  took  sugar. 

"You've  known  him  ever  so  long,  haven't  you?" 
asked  Ora,  handing  the  cup. 

"  Ages,  ever  since  we  were  children.  He  's  very  nice 
and  very  clever." 

"  I  've  only  known  him  quite  a  little  while."  Ora 
paused  and  laughed.  "  Some  people  would  say  that 's 
why  his  picture's  in  the  place  of  honour." 

"You  like  change?"  asked  Alice.  Ashley  liked 
change  also.     But  Ora  made  her  old  defence. 

"  People  change,  so  of  course  I  change  to  them." 
The  explanation  did  not  quite  satisfy  herself.  "  Oh,  I 
don't  know,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  Anyhow  I  haven't 
left  off  liking  Ashley  yet.     I  may,  you  know." 

Alice,  conscious  that  she  herself  in  her  hostess'  posi- 
tion would  have  said  "  Mr.  Mead,"  tried  to  make  the  ob- 


92    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

vious  allowances ;  it  was  just  like  that  clasping  of  the 
hands  round  Hazlewood's  arm,  just  like  the  air  of  ex- 
pecting to  be  kissed.  Fully  aware  of  insurgent  preju- 
dices, she  beat  them  down  with  a  despotic  judgment; 
she  would  not  follow  in  the  wake  of  her  stepmother 
nor  adopt  the  formulas  of  Minna  Soames.  Curiously, 
enough  Ora  was  in  somewhat  the  same  or  a  parallel  state 
of  mind,  although  she  did  not  realise  it  so  clearly.  She 
too  was  struggling  to  understand  and  to  appreciate. 
She  was  sure  she  would  be  friends  with  Miss  Muddock, 
if  she  could  get  within  her  guard  ;  but  why  did  people 
have  guards,  or  why  not  drop  them  when  other  people 
shewed  themselves  friendly?  You  might  have  to  keep 
the  Babba  Flints  at  their  distance,  no  doubt,  but  even 
that  was  better  done  by  ridicule  than  by  stiffness. 

"  We  still  see  a  good  deal  of  him,"  said  Alice,  "  al- 
though he  has  an  immense  lot  of  engagements.  He 
generally  comes  to  lunch  on  Sunday." 

Ora  reflected  that  ^he  had  not  followed  his  usual  prac- 
tice on  one  Sunday.  Alice  went  on  to  give  a  brief  de- 
scription of  Ashley's  general  relation  to  the  Muddock 
family,  and  referred  to  her  father's  wish  that  he  should 
enter  the  business. 

c'  He  came  to  talk  to  me  about  it  to-day,"  she  said, 
"  but  it  wouldn't  suit  him  in  the  least,  and  I  told  him 
so." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  wouldn't,"  cried  Ora.  "  I  'm  so  glad  you 
told  him  right." 

Their  eyes  met  in  a  sudden  glance.  Did  they  both 
know  so  much  of  Ashley  Mead,  of  his  tastes,  his  tem- 
per, and  what  would  suit  him?  An  embarrassment  ar- 
rested their  talk.  Alice  was  conscious  that  her  hostess' 
eyes  rested  on  her  with  an  inquisitive  glance;  it  had 
just  occurred  to  Ora  that  in  meeting  this  girl  she  had 


UNDER   THE  NOSEGAY  93 

encountered  a  part  of  the  life  of  Ashley  Mead  hitherto 
unknown  to  her.  "  What  part?  How  much?  "  her  eyes 
seemed  to  ask.  She  was  not  jealous  of  Alice  Muddock, 
but  she  was  inclined  to  be  jealous  of  all  that  life  of 
Ashley's  of  which  she  knew  nothing,  which  her  visitor 
had  snared.  With  a  sudden  longing  she  yearned  for 
the  inn  parlour  where  he  had  no  other  life  than  a  life 
with  her ;  the  sudden  force  of  the  feeling  took  her  un- 
awares and  set  her  heart  beating. 

She  came  again  to  Alice  and  sat  down  by  her  ;  silence 
had  somehow  become  significant  and  impossible. 

"  I  like  your  frock,"  she  said,  gently  fingering  the 
stuff.  "  At  least  I  like  it  for  you.  I  shouldn't  like  it 
for  me." 

The  relativity  of  frocks,  being,  like  that  of  morals,  an 
extensive  and  curious  subject,  detained  them  for  a  few 
moments  and  left  them  with  a  rather  better  opinion  of 
one  another.  Incidentally  it  revealed  a  common  scorn  of 
Minna  Soames,  who  dressed  as  though  she  were  stately 
when  she  was  only  pretty ;  this  also  knit  them  together. 
But  they  progressed  nearer  to  liking  than  to  understand- 
ing one  another.  Small  points  of  agreement,  such  as 
the  unsuitability  of  the  business  to  Ashley  and  the  in- 
appropriateness  of  her  gowns  to  Minna  Soames,  made 
intercourse  pleasant  but  could  not  bridge  the  gulf  be- 
tween them ;  they  were  no  more  than  hands  stretched  out 
from  distant  banks. 

Alice  began  to  talk  of  Irene  Kilnorton  and  Bowdon. 
While  attributing  to  them  all  proper  happiness  and  the 
finality  of  attachment  incidental  to  their  present  position, 
she  told  Ora,  with  a  laugh,  that  they  had  all  seen  how 
much  Bowdon  had  been  struck  with  her. 

"  I  think  he  did  like  me,"  said  Ora  with  a  ruminative 
smile.    "  He  's  safe  now,  isn't  he  ?  "  she  added  a  moment 


94     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

later.  The  thought  had  been  Alice's  own,  but  it  needed 
an  effort  for  her  to  look  at  it  from  Ora's  point  of  view. 
To  be  a  danger  and  to  know  yourself  to  be  a  danger,  to 
be  aware  of  your  perilousness  in  a  matter-of-fact  way, 
without  either  exultation  or  remorse,  was  a  thing  quite 
outside  Alice's  experience.  On  the  whole  to  expect 
men  to  fall  in  love  with  you  and  to  be  justified  in  this 
anticipation  by  events  would  create  a  life  so  alien  from 
hers  that  she  could  not  realise  its  incidents  or  the  state 
of  mind  it  would  create. 

"  I  like  Lord  Bowdon,"  said  Ora.  "  But —  "  she  paused 
and  went  on,  laughing,  "  He 's  rather  too  sensible  for 
me.  He  '11  just  suit  Irene  Kilnorton.  But  really  I  must 
write  and  tell  him  to  come  and  see  me.  I  haven't  seen 
him  since  the  engagement." 

"  You  'd  much  better  not,"  was  on  the  tip  of  Alice's 
tongue,  but  she  suspected  that  the  impulse  to  say  it  was 
born  of  her  still  struggling  prejudices.  "  Ask  them  to- 
gether," she  suggested  instead. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Ora  pathetically.     "  He  'd  hate  it." 

Alice  did  not  see  exactly  why  he  should  hate  it.  En- 
gaged people  always  went  about  together;  surely 
always  ? 

"  Were  you  ever  engaged?  "  Ora  went  on. 

"  Never,"  said  Alice  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  Ve  been  —  well,  of  course  I  have  —  and  I  hated 
it." 

With  curiosity  and  pleasure  Alice  found  herself  on 
the  threshold  of  the  subject  of  Mr.  Penning.  But  Ora 
turned  aside  without  entering  the  hidden  precincts. 

"  And  I  'm  sure  I  should  hate  it  worse  now.  You 
wouldn't  like  it,  would  you?" 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,  if  I  cared  for  the  man." 

"  Well,"  Ora  conceded,  "  he  might  make  it  endurable, 


UNDER  THE   NOSEGAY  95 

if  he  treated  it  properly.  Most  men  look  so  solemn 
over  it.  As  soon  as  they  've  got  you,  they  set  to  work 
to  make  you  think  what  a  tremendous  thing  you  've 
done.  As  if  that  was  the  way  to  enjoy  yourself!  "  She 
paused,  seemed  to  think,  smiled  out  of  the  window,  and 
then,  turning  to  Alice,  said  with  an  innocence  evidently 
genuine,  "  Ashley  Mead  would  make  it  rather  pleasant, 
I  think." 

The  trial  was  sudden ;  Alice  had  no  time  to  put  on 
her  armour ;  she  felt  that  her  face  flushed.  Again  their 
eyes  met,  as  they  had  when  it  was  agreed  that  the 
business  would  not  suit  Ashley.  The  glance  was  longer 
this  time,  and  after  Alice  turned  away  Ora  went  on 
looking  at  her  for  several  moments.  That  was  it,  then ; 
Irene  Kilnorton  had  not  spoken  idly  or  in  ignorant  gossip. 
What  she  had  said  fell  short  of  truth,  for  she  had  spoken 
of  an  alliance  only,  not  of  love.  Now  Ora  knew  why 
the  girl  talked  so  much  of  Ashley ;  now  she  knew  also 
why  the  girl  shewed  such  interest  in  herself.  Yes,  the 
rich  Miss  Muddock  would  be  Ashley's  wife  if  she  were 
wooed ;  besides  being  rich  she  was  pleasant  and  clever, 
and  knew  how  to  dress  herself.  (This  last  moral  quality 
ranked  high  in  Ora's  list.)  Such  an  arrangement  would 
be  in  all  ways  very  beneficial  to  Ashley.  She  wondered 
whether  Ashley  knew. how  entirely  the  game  was  in  his 
own  hands.  She  felt  a  sudden  and  sore  pity  for  Alice, 
who  had  been  so  cordial  and  so  pleasant  and  whose 
secret  she  had  heedlessly  surprised.  The  cordiality 
seemed  very  generous ;  there  was  in  it  a  challenge  to 
counter-generosity.  In  an  instant  the  heroic  idea  of  giv- 
ing him  up  to  Alice  flashed  through  her  brain.  This 
fine  conception  was  hardly  born  before  she  found  herself 
asking  wrathfully  whether  he  would  consent  to  leave 
her. 


96     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Alice  was  herself  again ;  she  said  that  she  thought 
Mr.  Mead  might  make  an  engagement  very  pleasant, 
but  that  such  a  relation  to  him  would  perhaps  not  be 
very  exciting  to  her,  since  she  had  known  him  all  her 
life.  This  suppression  of  emotion  was  not  to  Ora's 
taste;  it  burked  a  scene  to  which  her  instinct  had 
begun  to  look  forward.  But  as  generosity  would  be  at 
this  point  premature  (even  if  it  should  ever  become 
tolerable)  she  was  forced  to  acquiesce.  A  little  later 
Alice  took  her  leave  with  increased  friendliness  and  a 
pressing  invitation  to  Ora  to  come  and  see  her  at 
Kensington  Palace  Gardens  when  there  was  no  party 
and  they  could  have  another  quiet  talk  together. 

Surrender  —  or  the  inn  parlour?  Generosity  or  joy? 
As  an  incidental  accompaniment,  correctness  or  in- 
correctness of  conduct?  These  alternatives  presented 
themselves  to  Ora  when  she  was  left  alone.  The  role 
of  renunciation  had  not  only  obvious  recommendations 
but  also  secret  attractions.  How  well  she  could  play 
it !  She  did  not  exactly  tell  herself  that  she  could  play 
it  well  —  the  temperament  has  its  decent  reticences  — 
but  she  pictured  herself  playing  it  well  and  wished  for 
an  opportunity  to  play  it.  She  would  have  played  it 
beautifully  for  Irene  Kilnorton's  benefit,  had  that  lady 
asked  her  assistance  instead  of  taking  the  matter  into 
her  own  resolute  hands.  She  would  have  sent  Bowdon 
away  with  an  exhortation  to  see  his  own  good  and  to 
forget  her,  with  a  fully  adequate,  nay,  a  more  than 
ample,  confession  of  the  pain  the  step  was  causing  her, 
but  yet  with  a  determination  which  made  the  parting 
final  and  Irene's  happiness  secure.  All  this  vaguely 
rehearsed  itself  in  her  brain  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa 
beside  Ashley  Mead's  portrait  in  its  silver  frame.  And 
her   subsequent    relations   both    with   Irene    and   with 


UNDER  THE  NOSEGAY  97 

Bowdon  would  have  been  touched  with  an  underlying 
tenderness  and  sweetened  by  the  common  recollection 
of  her  conduct;  even  when  he  had  become  quite  happy 
with  Irene,  even  when  he  had  learnt  to  thank  herself, 
he  would  not  quite  forget  what  might  have  been. 

Having  arrived  at  this  point,  Ora  burst  into  a  laugh 
at  her  own  folly.  All  that  went  very  well,  so  very 
smoothly  and  effectively,  grouped  itself  so  admirably, 
and  made  such  a  pretty  picture.  But  she  took  up  the 
photograph  in  the  silver  frame  and  looked  at  it.  It 
was  not  Bowdon's  likeness  but  Ashley  Mead's ;  the  ques- 
tion, the  real  question,  was  not  whether  she  should  give 
up  Bowdon  ;  fate  was  not  complaisant  enough  to  present 
her  with  a  part  at  once  so  telling  and  so  easy.  It  was 
not  Bowdon  with  whom  she  had  spent  a  day  in  the 
country,  not  Bowdon  who  had  been  with  her  in  the 
inn  parlour,  not  Bowdon  who,  Alice  Muddock  thought, 
might  make  an  engagement  very  pleasant.  The  grace 
of  self-knowledge  came  to  her  and  told  her  the  plain 
truth  about  her  pretty  picture. 

"  What  a  humbug  I  am  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  set  down 
the  photograph. 

For  the  actual  opportunity  was  very  different  from 
the  imagined,  as  rich  in  effect  perhaps,  but  by  no  means 
so  attractive.  She  still  liked  her  part,  but  the  rest  of  the 
cast  was  not  to  her  taste ;  she  could  still  think  of  the 
final  interview  with  a  melancholy  pleasure,  but,  with  this 
distribution  of  characters,  how  dull  and  sad  and  empty 
and  intolerable  life  would  be  when  the  final  interview 
was  done !  The  subsequent  relations  lost  all  their 
subdued  charm ;  underlying  tenderness  and  common 
recollections  became  flat  and  unprofitable. 

"  An  awful  humbug ! "  sighed  Ora  with  a  plaintive 
smile. 


98     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Why  were  good  things  so  difficult?  Because  this 
thing  would  be  very  good  —  for  him,  for  poor  Alice,  for 
herself.  A  reaction  from  the  joy  of  Sunday  came  over 
her,  bringing  a  sense  of  fear,  almost  of  guilt.  She  re- 
collected with  a  flash  of  memory  what  she  had  said  to 
Jack  Fenning  when  they  parted  in  hot  anger.  "You 
needn't  be  afraid  to  leave  me  alone,"  she  had  cried 
defiantly,  and  up  to  now  she  had  justified  the  boast. 
She  had  been  weary  and  lonely,  she  had  been  courted 
and  tempted,  but  she  had  held  fast  to  what  she  had 
said.  Her  anger  and  her  determination  that  Jack 
should  not  be  in  a  position  to  triumph  over  her  had 
helped  to  keep  her  steps  straight  Now  these  motives 
seemed  less  strong,  now  the  loneliness  was  greater.  If 
she  sent  Ashley  away  the  loneliness  would  be  terrible; 
but  this  meant  that  the  danger  in  not  sending  him  away 
was  terrible  too,  both  for  him  and  for  her.  As  she  sank 
deeper  and  deeper  in  depression  she  told  herself  that  she 
was  born  to  unhappiness,  but  that  she  might  at  least  try 
not  to  make  other  people  as  unhappy  as  she  herself  was 
doomed  to  be. 

While  she  still  lay  on  the  sofa,  in  turns  pitying,  re- 
proaching, and  exhorting  herself,  Janet  came  in. 

"  A  letter,  ma'am,"  said  Janet.  "  Your  dinner  will  be 
ready  in  ten  minutes,  ma'am." 

"  Thanks,  Janet,"  said  Ora,  and  took  the  letter.  The 
handwriting  was  not  known  to  her ;  the  stamp  and  post- 
mark were  American;  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  the  legend 
ran.  "  I  don't  know  anybody  in  Bridgeport,  or  in 
Conn.  —  Conn.?  —  Oh,  yes,  Connecticut,"  said  Ora. 

The  silver  frame  stood  crooked  on  the  table.  Ora 
set  it  straight,  looked  at  the  face  in  it,  smiled  at  some 
thought,  sighed  at  the  same  or  some  other  thought,  and 
lazily  opened  the  letter   from  Bridgeport,  Conn. ;    she 


UNDER   THE    NOSEGAY  99 

supposed  it  was  a  communication  of  a  business  kind, 
or  perhaps  a  request  for  a  photograph  or  autograph. 

"  My  dear  Ora,  I  have  had  an  accident  to  my  hand, 
so  get  a  friend  to  write  this  for  me.  I  am  here  in  a 
merchant's  office,  but  have  had  a  bit  of  luck  on  Wall 
Street  and  am  in  funds  to  a  modest  extent.  So  I  am 
going  to  take  a  holiday.  I  shall  not  come  to  England 
unless  you  give  me  leave;  but  I  should  like  to  come 
and  see  you  again  and  pay  you  a  visit.  How  long  I 
stayed  would  depend  on  circumstances  and  on  what  we 
decided  after  we  had  met.  A  letter  will  find  me  here  for 
the  next  month.  I  hope  you  will  send  one  inviting  me 
to  come.  I  would  write  more  if  I  could  write  myself; 
as  it  is  I  will  only  add  that  I  am  very  anxious  to  see 
you  and  am  sure  I  can  set  right  any  mistakes  that  there 
have  been  in  the  past.  Write  as  soon  as  you  can. 
Yours  affectionately,  Jack." 

She  turned  back  to  the  envelope :  —  "  Miss  Ora  Pin- 
sent"  The  friend  who  wrote  Jack's  letter  probably  did 
not  know  that  he  was  writing  to  Jack's  wife.  Janet  knew 
Jack's  writing,  but  not  the  writing  of  Jack's  friend.  In 
secrecy  and  privacy  Jack's  letter  had  come.  She  laid 
it  down  beside  the  portrait  in  the  silver  frame,  and  lay 
back  again  quietly  with  wide-opened  eyes.  The  clock 
ticked  away  ten  minutes;  dinner  was  ready;  she  lay 
still. 

Had  people  a  right  to  rise  from  the  dead  like  this? 
Were  they  justified,  having  gone  out  of  life,  in  coming 
back  into  it  under  cover  of  a  friend's  handwriting  and 
a  postage  stamp?  They  had  parted  for  ever,  Jack  and 
she,  most  irrevocably,  most  eagerly,  most  angrily.  A 
few  lines  on  a  sheet  of  note  paper  could  not  change  all 
that.  He  had  been  dead  and  gone;  at  least  he  had 
existed  only  as  a  memory  and  as  —  she  hardly  liked  to 


100     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

say  an  encumbrance  —  as  a  check,  as  a  limiting  fact,  as 
a  difficulty  which  of  necessity  barred  her  from  ordering 
her  doings  just  as  she  might  have  liked  to  order  them. 
Now  he  proposed  suddenly  to  become  a  fact,  a  pres- 
ence, a  part  of  her  again,  and  stole  a  hearing  for  this 
proposal  in  the  insidious  disguise  of  a  friend's  hand- 
writing. How  he  chose  his  time  too !  In  wild  fancy 
she  imputed  to  him  a  knowledge  of  the  curious  appo- 
siteness  of  his  letter's  arrival.  It  came  just  when  she 
was  unhappy,  torn  with  doubts,  feeling  low,  yes,  and 
feeling  guilty;  just  after  the  revelation  of  Alice  Mud- 
dock's  feelings,  just  after  the  day  in  the  country,  just 
while  she  was  saying  that,  for  weal  or  woe,  she  could 
not  send  Ashley  Mead  away.  At  such  a  moment  she 
would  not  have  opened  the  letter  had  she  known  it  for 
his;  but  he  had  had  an  accident  to  his  hand  and  the 
unknown  writing  had  gained  him  access. 

Janet  came  in  again. 

"  Your  dinner  is  ready,  ma'am,"  she  said,  and  went 
on,  "  These  have  come  for  you,  ma'am,"  laying  a  nose- 
gay of  roses  on  the  little  table  beside  the  portrait  in  the 
silver  frame,  and  the  letter  from  Bridgeport,  Conn. 

Ora  nodded;  there  was  no  need  to  ask  whence  the 
roses  came ;  they  were  of  the  colour  she  had  declared 
her  favourite  by  the  river  bank  on  Sunday.  "  I  '11  come 
to  dinner  directly,"  she  said,  and  seeing  Janet's  eye  on 
the  letter,  she  forgot  that  it  was  in  a  friend's  handwriting 
and  pushed  it  under  the  nosegay  till  the  roses  hid  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  on  the  table  now  but  the 
roses  of  the  colour  she  loved,  and  the  picture  in  its 
silver  frame. 

To  toy  with  material  symbols  of  immaterial  realities 
is  pretty  enough  work  for  the  fancy  or  the  pen.  The 
symbols  are  docile  and  amenable;    the   letter  can  be 


UNDER   THE  NOSEGAY,       101 

pushed  under  the  roses  till  their  blooms  ptte/ly  conceal 
it,  and  neither  you  nor  anybody  dse  can  rgee:{Rafr'ft  is 
there.  The  picture  you  do  not'care  about  can  be  locked 
away  in  the  drawer,  the  one  you  love  placed  on  the 
little  table  by  your  elbow  as  you  sit  in  your  favourite 
seat.  Unhappily  this  artistic  arrangement  of  the  sym- 
bols makes  no  difference  at  all  to  the  obstinate  realities. 
They  go  on  existing;  they  insist  on  remaining  visible 
or  even  obtrusive;  audible  and  even  clamorous.  The 
whole  thing  is  a  profitless  trick  of  the  fancy  or  the  pen. 
Although  the  letter  was  pushed  under  the  roses,  Jack 
Fenning  was  alive  in  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  with  a  desire  to 
see  his  wife  in  his  heart,  and  his  passage  money  across 
the  Atlantic  in  his  pocket. 

As  Ora  drove  down  to  the  theatre  that  night,  she 
moaned,  "  How  am  I  to  play  with  all  this  worrying 
me?"  But  she  played  very  well  indeed.  And  she  was 
sorry  when  the  acting  was  over  and  she  had  to  go  back 
to  her  little  house  in  Chelsea,  to  the  society  of  the  letter 
and  the  roses.  But  now  there  was  another  letter :  "  I 
am  coming  to-morrow  at  3.     Be  at  home.     A.  M." 

"  What  in  the  world  am  I  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  with 
woeful  eyes  and  quivering  lip.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
much  was  being  laid  on  the  shoulders  of  a  poor  young 
woman  who  asked  nothing  but  to  be  allowed  to  perfect 
her  art  and  to  enjoy  her  life.  It  did  not  occur  to  her 
that  the  first  of  these  aims  is  accomplished  by  few 
people,  that  at  any  rate  a  considerable  minority  fail  in 
the  second,  and  that  the  fingers  of  two  hands  may  count 
those  who  in  any  generation  succeed  in  both.  The 
apparent  modesty  of  what  she  asked  of  fortune  entirely 
deceived  her.  She  sat  in  her  dressing-gown  and  cried 
a  little  before  she  got  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  LEGITIMATE  CLAIMANT 

ASHLEY  MEAD  did  not  take  the  week's  consid- 
eration which  Sir  James  had  pressed  on  him.  The 
same  evening  he  wrote  a  letter  decisively  declining  to 
assume  a  place  at  the  helm  in  Buckingham  Palace  Road. 
Sir  James,  receiving  the  letter  and  handing  it  to  Alice, 
was  disappointed  to  meet  with  no  sympathy  in  his  ex- 
pressed views  of  its  folly.  He  was  nearly  angry  with  his 
daughter  and  frankly  furious  against  Ashley.  He  was 
proud  of  his  daughter  and  proud  of  his  business ;  the 
refusal  left  him  very  sore  for  both.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  his  office  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  by  sum- 
moning Bertie  Jewett  to  his  presence  and  offering  him 
the  position  to  whose  attractions  Ashley  had  been  so 
culpably  blind. 

Here  there  was  no  refusal.  A  slim,  close-built,  dap- 
per little  fellow,  with  a  small  fair  moustache  and  small 
keen  blue  eyes,  full  of  self-confidence,  perfectly  self-con- 
trolled, almost  sublimely  industrious,  patiently  ambitious, 
Bertie  turned  away  from  no  responsibilities  and  let  slip 
no  opportunities.  He  knew  himself  Bob  Muddock's 
superior  in  brains;  he  had  known  of,  and  secretly 
chafed  against,  the  proposed  intrusion  of  Ashley  Mead. 
Now  he  was  safe,  and  fortune  in  his  hands.  But  to 
Bertie  the  beauty  of  firm  ground  was  not  that  you  can 
stand  still  on  it  and  be  comfortable,  but  that  it  affords  a 
good  "  take-off"  when  you  want  to  clear  an  obstacle 
which  lies  between  you  and  a  place  even  more  desirable 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     103 

in  your  eyes.  Sir  James  explained  the  arrangements 
he  proposed  to  make,  his  big  share,  Bob's  moderate 
share,  Bertie's  small  share ;  the  work,  as  is  not  unusual, 
was  to  be  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  the  share.  Then  the 
old  man  approached  the  future.  When  he  was  gone 
there  was  a  sum  of  money  and  a  big  annuity  for  Lady 
Muddock;  subject  to  that,  Bob  was  to  have  two-fifths 
of  his  father's  share  to  add  to  his  own ;  the  rest  was  to 
be  Alice's.  In  that  future  time  Alice's  share  would  be 
nearly  as  big  as  Bob's;  the  addition  of  another  small 
share  would  give  it  preponderance.  Bertie's  blue  eye 
was  very  keen  as  he  examined  the  nature  of  the  ground 
he  had  reached  and  its  capacities  in  the  way  of  "  take- 
off." But  on  going  forth  from  Sir  James'  office,  he 
could  at  first  do  little  but  marvel  at  the  madness  of 
Ashley  Mead;  for  he  knew  that  Ashley  might  have 
taken  what  he  had  just  received,  and  he  suspected  that 
the  great  jump  he  had  begun  to  meditate  would  have 
been  easy  to  Ashley.  For  incontestably  Alice  had 
shown  favour  to  Ashley  —  and  had  not  shown  favour  to 
Bertie  Jewett. 

Bob  and  Bertie  lunched  together  at  Bob's  club  that 
day,  the  occasion  allowing  a  little  feasting  and  relaxation 
from  toil.  The  new  project  touching  Alice  was  not 
even  distantly  approached,  but  Bertie  detected  in  Bob 
a  profound  dissatisfaction  with  Ashley  Mead.  Ashley's 
refusal  seemed  to  Bob  a  slur  on  the  business,  and  con- 
cerning the  business  he  was  very  sensitive.  He  re- 
marked with  mingled  asperity  and  satisfaction  that 
Ashley  had  "  dished  himself  all  round."  The  "  all 
round "  indicated  something  besides  the  big  block  in 
Buckingham  Palace  Road,  and  so  was  significant  and 
precious  to  Bertie  Jewett. 

"  Naturally  we  aren't  pleased,"  Bob  said,  assuming  to 


104    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

express  the  collective  views  of  the  family.  "  Fact  is, 
Ashley 's  got  a  bit  too  much  side  on,  you  know." 

Bertie  Jewett  laughed  cautiously. 

"  He  doesn't  like  the  shop,  I  suppose  !  "  Bob  pursued 
sarcastically. 

"  I  'm  sorry  Sir  James  is  so  much  annoyed  about  it," 
remarked  Bertie  with  apparent  concern. 

"He'll  see  what  a  fool  he's  made  of  himself  some 
day,"  said  Bob.  Alice  was  in  his  mind,  but  went  un- 
mentioned. 

Bob's  opinion  was  shared  in  its  entirety  by  Irene  Kil- 
norton,  who  came  over  to  express  it  to  Alice  as  soon  as 
the  news  reached  her  through  Bowdon.  Bowdon  had 
heard  it  from  Ashley  himself,  they  being  together  on 
the  business  of  the  Commission.  Irene  was  amazed  to 
find  Alice  on  Ashley's  side  and  would  allow  no  merit  to 
her  point  of  view. 

"  Oh,  no,  it's  all  wrong,"  she  declared.  "It  would 
have  been  good  for  him  in  every  way ;  it  would  have 
settled  him." 

"I  don't  want  him  settled,"  said  Alice.  "  Oh,  if  you 
knew  how  tired  I  get  of  the  business  sometimes  !  Be- 
sides it  will  make  Mr.  Jewett  so  happy.  He  takes  Ash- 
ley's place,  you  know,  though  father  won't  give  h'im  as 
big  a  share  as  he  'd  have  given  Ashley." 

"  Well,  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Mead  what  I  think  of  him." 
She  paused,  hesitating  a  moment  as  to  whether  she 
should  say  a  disagreeable  thing  or  not.  But  she  was 
annoyed  by  Alice's  attitude  and  decided  to  say  it. 
"  Not  that  he  '11  care  what  I  say  or  what  anybody  says, 
except  Ora  Pinsent,"  she  ended. 

"Won't  he?"  asked  Alice.  She  felt  bound  to  inter- 
ject something. 

"  What  a  creature  she  is !  "  cried  Irene.     "  When   I 


THE    LEGITIMATE    CLAIMANT     105 

went  to  see  her  this  morning,  I  found  her  in  tears. 
What  about?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  But  I  spoke  to  her 
sensibly.'* 

"  Poor  Miss  Pinsent !  " 

"  I  said,  '  My  dear  Ora,  I  suppose  you  've  done 
something  silly  and  now  you  're  sorry  for  yourself.  For 
goodness'  sake,  though,  don't  ask  me  to  be  sorry  for 
you.' " 

"  Had  she  asked  you  ? "  said  Alice  with  a  smile. 
Lady  Kilnorton  took  no  notice  of  the  question. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  went  on  scornfully,  "  that  she 
wanted  to  be  petted.     I  wasn't  going  to  pet  her." 

"  I  think  I  should  have  petted  her.  She  'd  be  nice  to 
pet,"  Alice  remarked  thoughtfully. 

Irene  seemed  to  lose  patience. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  and  she  are  going 
to  make  friends?"  she  exclaimed.  "It  would  be  too 
absurd." 

"Why  shouldn't  we?  I  liked  her  rather;  at  least  I 
think  so." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  that  husband  of  hers  would 
come  back  and  look  after  her.  What 's  more,  I  said 
so  to  her;  but  she  only  went  on  crying  more  and 
more." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  been  very  pleasant,"  Alice 
observed. 

"  I  suppose  I  wasn't,"  Irene  admitted,  half  in  remorse. 
"  But  that  sort  of  person  does  annoy  me  so.  As  I  was 
saying  to  Frank,  you  never  know  where  to  have  them. 
Oh,  but  Ora  doesn't  mind  it  from  me." 

"Then  why  did  she  cry  more  and  more?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  unless  it  was  because  I  reminded 
her  of  Mr.  Fenning's  existence.  I  think  it's  a  good 
thing  to  do  sometimes." 


106     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Perhaps.  I  'm  not  sure,  though,  that  I  shouldn't 
leave  it  to  Mr.  Fenning  himself." 

"  My  dear,  respectability  goes  for  something.  The 
man's  alive,  after  all." 

Alice  knew  that  he  was  alive  and  in  her  heart  knew 
that  she  was  glad  he  was  alive ;  but  she  was  sorry  that 
Ora  should  be  made  to  cry  by  being  invited  to  remem- 
ber that  he  was  alive.  Irene  was,  presumably,  happy 
with  the  man  she  had  chosen  ;  it  was  a  good  work  lean- 
ing towards  supererogation  (if  such  were  possible)  when 
she  took  Ora's  domestic  relations  under  her  wing.  She 
hinted  something  of  this  sort. 

"  Oh,  that 's  what  Ashley  Mead  says ;  we  all  know 
why  he  says  it,"  was  Irene's  mode  of  receiving  the  good 
advice. 

A  pause  followed ;  Irene  put  her  arm  through  Alice's 
and  they  began  to  walk  about  the  garden.  Lady  Mud- 
dock  was  working  at  her  embroidery  at  the  open 
window;  she  was  pronouncedly  anti-Ashleyan,  taking 
the  colour  of  her  opinions  from  her  husband  and  even 
more  from  Bob. 

"  Where  's  Lord  Bowdon?  " 

"  Oh,  at  his  tiresome  Commission.  He 's  coming 
to  tea  afterwards.  I  asked  Mr.  Mead,  but  he  won't 
come." 

"  You  '11  be  happier  alone  together." 

Irene  Kilnorton  made  no  answer.  She  looked  faintly 
doubtful  and  a  trifle  distressed.  Presently  she  made  a 
general  remark. 

"It's  an  awful  thing,"  she  said,  "to  undertake  —  to 
back  yourself,  you  know  —  to  live  all  your  life  with  a 
man  and  never  bore  him." 

"  I  'm  sure  you  couldn't  bore  anybody." 

"  Frank  's  rather  easily  bored,  I  'm  afraid." 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     107 

"  What  nonsense !  Why,  you  're  making  yourself 
unhappy  just  in  the  same  way  that  Miss  Pinsent—  " 

11  Oh,  do  stop  talking  about  Ora  Pinsent !  "  cried 
Irene  fervently.  Then  she  gave  a  sudden  apprehensive 
glance  at  her  companion  and  blushed  a  little.  "  I  sim- 
ply meant  that  men  wanted  such  a  lot  of  amusing,"  she 
ended. 

In  recording  her  interview  with  Ora,  Irene  had  some- 
what exaggerated  her  brutality,  just  as  in  her  reflexions 
about  her  friend  she  exaggerated  her  own  common-sense. 
Ora  drove  her  into  protective  measures  ;  she  found  them 
in  declaring  herself  as  unlike  to  Ora  as  possible.  In 
reality  common-sense  held  no  disproportionate  or  dis- 
agreeable sway  in  her  soul ;  if  it  had,  she  would  have 
been  entirely  content  with  the  position  which  now 
existed,  and  with  her  relations  towards  Bowdon.  There 
was  nothing  lacking  which  this  vaunted  common-sense 
could  demand ;  it  was  stark  sentimentality,  and  by  con- 
sequence such  folly  as  Ora  herself  might  harbour  and 
drop  tears  about,  which  whispered  in  her  heart,  saying 
that  all  was  nothing  so  long  as  she  was  not  for  her  lover 
the  first  and  only  woman  in  the  world,  so  long  as  she 
still  felt  that  she  had  seized  him,  not  won  him,  so  long 
as  the  mention  of  Ora's  name  still  brought  a  look  to  his 
face  and  a  check  to  his  talk.  It  was  against  herself 
more  than  against  Ora  that  she  had  railed  in  the  gar- 
den ;  Ora  had  exasperated  her  because  she  knew  in 
herself  a  temper  as  unreasonable  as  Ora's ;  she  harped 
on  Ora's  husband  ill-naturedly  —  as  she  went  home, 
she  confessed  she  had  been  ill-natured  —  because  he 
who  was  to  be  her  husband  had  dreamt  of  being  Ora's 
lover.  Even  now  he  dared  not  speak  her  name,  he 
dared  not  see  her,  he  could  not  trust  himself.  The 
pledge  his  promised  bride  had  wrung  from  him  was  safe 


108     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

so  long  as  he  did  not  sec  or  let  himself  think  of  Ora. 
It  was  thus  that  Irene  read  his  mind. 

She  read  it  rightly  —  to  his  own  sorrow  and  remorse 
—  rightly.  He  was  surprised  too.  About  taking  the 
decisive  step  he  had  hesitated ;  except  for  circumstances 
rather  accidentally  provocative,  perhaps  he  would  not 
have  taken  it.  But  its  virtue  and  power,  if  and  when 
taken,  he  had  not  doubted.  He  had  thought  that  by  bind- 
ing his  actions  with  the  chain  of  honour  he  would  bind 
his  feelings  with  the  chain  of  love,  that  when  his  steps 
could  not  wander  his  fancy  also  would  be  tethered,  that 
he  could  escape  longing  by  abstinence,  and  smother  a 
craving  for  one  by  committing  himself  to  seem  to  crave 
for  another.  The  maxims  of  that  common-sense  alter- 
nately lauded  and  reviled  by  Irene  had  told  him  that  he 
would  be  successful  in  all  this;  he  found  himself  suc- 
cessful in  none  of  it.  Ora  would  not  go ;  her  lure  still 
drew  him ;  as  he  sat  at  his  Commission  opposite  to  his 
secretary  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  he  was  jealous 
of  his  secretary.  Thus  he  was  restless,  uncomfortable, 
contemptuous  of  himself.  But  he  was  resolute  too. 
He  was  not  a  man  who  broke  faith  or  took  back  his 
plighted  word.  Irene  was  to  be  his  wife,  was  as  good 
as  his  wife  since  his  pledge  was  hers ;  he  set  himself  to 
an  obstinate  fulfilment  of  his  bargain,  resolved  that  she 
should  see  in  him  nothing  but  a  devoted  lover,  ignorant 
that  she  saw  in  him  the  thing  which  above  all  he  wished 
to  hide.  Such  of  Ora's  tears  as  might  be  apportioned 
to  the  unhappiness  she  caused  to  others  were  just  now 
tolerably  well  justified,  whatever  must  be  thought  of 
those  which  she  shed  on  her  own  account.  Here  was 
Bowdon  restless  and  contemptuous  of  himself,  Irene 
bitter  and  ashamed,  Alice  with  no  surer,  no  more  honest, 
comfort  than  the  precarious  existence  of  Mr.  Fenning, 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     109 

Sir  James  Muddock  (Ora  was  no  doubt  partly  respon- 
sible here  also)  grievously  disappointed  and  hurt;  while 
the  one  person  who  might  be  considered  to  owe  her 
something,  Mr.  Bertie  Jewett,  was  as  unconscious  of 
his  debt  as  she  of  his  existence ;  both  would  have  been 
surprised  to  learn  that  they  had  anything  in  the  world 
to  do  with  one  another.  But  after  all  most  of  Ora's 
tears  were  for  herself.  Small  wonder  in  face  of  that 
letter  from  Bridgeport,  Connecticut ! 

Bowdon  wished  to  be  married  very  soon;  why  wait, 
he  asked ;  he  was  not  as  young  as  he  had  been ;  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  go  to  the  country  in  August  man 
and  wife.  In  fine  the  chain  of  honour  gave  signs  of 
being  strained,  and  he  proposed  to  tie  up  the  other  leg 
with  the  fetters  of  law ;  he  wanted  to  make  it  more  and 
more  impossible  that  he  should  give  another  thought  to 
anybody  except  his  affianced  wife.  In  marriage  attach- 
ment becomes  a  habit,  daily  companionship  strengthens 
it;  surely  that  was  so?  And  in  the  country,  or,  better 
still,  on  a  yacht  in  mid-ocean,  how  could  anything  re- 
mind him  of  anybody  else?  But  Irene  would  not  hasten 
the  day ;  she  gave  many  reasons  to  countervail  his ;  the 
one  she  did  not  give  was  a  wild  desire  that  he  should  be 
her  lover  before  he  became  her  husband.  So  on  their 
feigned  issues  they  discussed  the  matter. 

"The  end  of  July?"  he  suggested.  It  was  now  mid- 
June. 

"  Impossible,  Frank  !  "  she  cried.  "  Perhaps  Novem- 
ber." 

In  September  and  October  Ora  would  be  away. 
Two  months  with  Ora  away,  absolutely  away,  per- 
haps forgotten  !  Irene  built  hopes  high  on  these  two 
months. 

"  Not    till    November !  "    he    groaned.      The    groan 


110     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

sounded  well ;  but  it  meant  "  Don't  leave  me  free  all 
that  time.     Tie  me  up  before  then  !  " 

"  Ashley  Mead  seems  obstinate  in  his  silly  refusal  of 
Sir  James  Muddock's  offer,"  she  said,  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  the  conflict. 

"  Why  should  he  take  it?"  asked  Bowdon.  "He  can 
get  along  very  well  without  it ;  I  don't  fancy  him  at  the 
counter." 

"  Oh,  it 's  so  evidently  the  sensible  thing." 

"  I  've  heard  you  tell  him  yourself  not  to  go  and  sell 
ribbons." 

How  exasperating  are  these  reminders ! 

"  I  've  grown  wiser  in  ever  so  many  ways  lately,"  she 
retorted  with  a  smile. 

There  was  an  opening  for  a  lover  here.  She  gave  it 
him  with  a  forlorn  hope  of  its  acceptance. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  'm  not  sure  it's  a  good  thing  to  grow  so 
very  wise,"  he  said.     Then  he  came  and  sat  by  her. 

"  You  mustn't  be  sentimental,"  she  warned  him. 
"  Remember  we  're  elderly  people." 

He  insisted  on  being  rather  sentimental ;  with  a  keen 
jealousy  she  assessed  his  sincerity.  Sometimes  he  al- 
most persuaded  her;  she  prayed  so  hard  to  be  con- 
vinced ;  but  the  wish  begot  no  true  conviction.  Then 
she  was  within  an  ace  of  throwing  his  pledge  back  in 
his  face ;  but  still  she  clung  to  her  triumph  with  all  its 
alloy  and  all  its  incompleteness.  She  had  brought  him 
to  say  he  loved  her;  could  she  not  bring  him  in  very 
truth  to  love?  Why  had  Ora  but  to  lift  a  finger  while 
she  put  out  all  her  strength  in  vain?  It  would  not 
have  consoled  her  a  whit  had  she  been  reminded  of 
Ora's  tears.  Like  most  of  us,  she  would  have  chosen 
to  win  and  weep. 

As  Bowdon  strolled  slowly  back  through  the  Park, 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     111 

repeating  how  charming  Irene  was  and  how  wise  and 
fortunate  he  himself  was,  he  met  Ashley  Mead.  Ashley 
was  swinging  along  at  a  good  pace,  his  coat-tails  flying 
in  the  wind  behind  him.  When  Bowdon  first  saw  him 
he  was  smiling  and  his  lips  were  moving,  as  though  he 
were  talking  to  himself  in  a  pleasant  vein.  In  response 
to  his  friend's  hail,  he  stopped,  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
announced  that  he  had  ten  minutes  to  spare. 

"Where  are  you  off  to  in  such  a  hurry?"  asked 
Bowdon.  Ashley  looked  openly  happy;  he  had  an 
air  of  being  content  with  life,  of  being  sure  that  he 
could  make  something  satisfactory  out  of  it,  and  of 
having  forgotten,  for  the  time  being  at  all  events, 
any  incidental  drawbacks  which  might  attend  on  it. 
Bowdon  was  smitten  with  an  affectionate  envy,  and 
regarded  the  young  man  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  Going  to  see  a  lady,"  said  Ashley. 

"  You  seem  to  be  making  a  day  of  it,"  observed 
Bowdon.  "  In  the  morning  you  refuse  a  fortune,  in 
the  afternoon  —  " 

"  Oh,  you  Ve  heard  about  the  fortune,  have  you  ? 
I  Ve  just  been  down  to  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  to 
congratulate  young  Jewett  on  being  in  —  and  myself  on 
being  out.     Now,  as  I  mentioned,  Lord  Bowdon  —  " 

"Now  you  're  on  your  way  to  see  Miss  Pinsent?" 

"  Right ;  you  Ve  guessed  it,  my  lord,"  laughed  Ashley. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  No,  I  'm  not/ 

"  You  know  all  about  Mr.  Fenning?  " 

"  Well,  as  much  as  most  of  us  know  about  him.  But 
I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  take  tea  with  Miss  Ora 
Pinsent." 

Bowdon  turned  and  began  to  walk  slowly  along  beside 
Ashley ;  Ashley  looked  at  his  watch  again  and  resigned 


112    A   SERVANT  OF  THE  PUBLIC 

himself  to  another  five  minutes.  He  owed  something  to 
Bowdon ;  he  could  spare  him  five  of  Ora's  minutes ;  to 
confess  the  truth,  moreover,  he  was  a  little  early,  al- 
though he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  be. 

"Jewett's  the  ablest  little  cad,  I  know,"  said  Ashley. 
"  At  least  I  think  he  's  a  cad,  though  I  can't  exactly 
tell  you  why." 

"  Of  course  he  's  a  cad,"  said  Bowdon,  who  had  dined 
with  Bob  Muddock  to  meet  him. 

"  There 's  no  salient  point  you  can  lay  hold  of," 
mused  Ashley ;  "  it 's  pervasive ;  you  can  tell  it  when 
you  see  him  with  women,  you  know ;  that  brings  it  out. 
But  he  's  got  a  head  on  his  shoulders." 

"  That 's  more  than  can  be  said  for  you  at  this 
moment,  my  friend." 

"  I  'm  enjoying  myself  very  much,  thank  you,"  said 
Ashley  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  You  won't  be  for  long,"  retorted  Bowdon,  half  in 
sorrow,  half  in  the  involuntary  malice  so  often  aroused 
by  the  sight  of  gay  happiness. 

"  Look  here,  you  ought  to  be  idiotic  yourself  just 
now,"  Ashley  remonstrated.  Then  out  came  his  watch 
again.  The  sight  of  it  relieved  Bowdon  from  the  fear 
that  he  had  betrayed  himself;  evidently  he  occupied  no 
place  at  all  in  his  companion's  thoughts. 

"  Be  off,"  he  said  with  rueful  good-nature.  "  Only 
don't  say  I  didn't  tell  you." 

Ashley  laughed,  nodded  carelessly,  and  set  off  again 
at  his  round  pace.  But  presently  the  round  pace 
became  intolerably  slow,  and  he  hailed  a  hansom.  He 
was  by  way  of  being  economical  about  hansoms,  often 
pointing  out  how  fares  mounted  up ;  but  he  took  a 
good  many.  He  was  soon  landed  at  the  little  house  in 
Chelsea. 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     113 

Ora  was  not  in  the  room  when  Janet  ushered  him  in. 
"  I  '11  tell  my  mistress,  sir,"  said  Janet  gravely,  taking  up 
a  smelling-bottle  which  stood  on  Ora's  little  table  and 
carrying  it  off  with  her.  Blind  to  this  subtle  indication 
that  all  was  not  well  in  the  house,  Ashley  roamed  about 
the  room.  He  noticed  with  much  satisfaction  his  portrait 
in  the  silver  frame  and  his  roses  in  a  vase ;  then  he  looked 
at  the  photographs  on  the  mantel-piece;  falling  from 
these,  his  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  in  idleness  on  a 
letter  which  bore  the  postmark  "  Bridgeport,  Conn." 

"  Ah,  here  she  is  !  "  he  cried,  as  a  step  sounded  and 
the  door-handle  was  turned.  Ora  entered  and  closed 
the  door;  but  she  did  not  advance  towards  him;  the 
smelling-bottle  was  in  her  hand. 

"  I  wrote  you  a  note  telling  you  not  to  come,"  she 
said. 

"  Thank  heaven  I  didn't  get  it,"  he  answered  cheer- 
fully. "  I  haven't  been  home  since  the  morning.  You 
can't  send  me  away  now,  can  you?" 

Ora  walked  slowly  towards  the  sofa ;  he  met  her  half- 
way and  held  out  both  his  hands ;  she  gave  him  one  of 
hers  in  a  listless  despairing  fashion. 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  "  said  he.  "  You  've  been  making  your- 
self unhappy?  " 

She  waved  him  away  gently,  and  sat  down. 

"  What  was  in  the  note  you  wrote  me  ? "  he  asked, 
standing  opposite  to  her. 

"  That  I  could  never  see  you  again,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  come !  "  Ashley  expostulated  with  a  laugh. 
"  That 's  rather  summary,  isn't  it  ?    What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Irene  Kilnorton  has  been  here." 

"Ah!  And  was  she  disagreeable?  She  is  some- 
times —  from  a  sense  of  duty  or  what  she  takes  for  it." 

"  Yes,  she  was  disagreeable." 

8 


114     A   SERVANT    OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  If  that's  all  —  "  he  began,  taking  a  step  forward. 

"  That 's  not  all,"  Ora  interrupted.  "Are  my  eyes 
red?" 

"  You  Ve  not  been  crying?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  she  retorted,  almost  angrily.  "  Oh, 
why  did  I  go  with  you  on  Sunday?  Why  did  you 
make  me  go?  " 

She  seemed  to  be  conscience-stricken ;  he  drew  up  a 
chair  and  sat  down  by  her.  She  did  not  send  him  away 
now  but  looked  at  him  appealingly.  She  had  some- 
thing of  the  air  that  she  had  worn  in  the  inn  parlour, 
but  there  joy  had  been  mingled  with  her  appeal ;  there 
was  no  joy  in  her  eyes  now. 

"  We  didn't  do  much  harm  on  Sunday,"  he  said. 

"  I  believe  I  'm  preventing  you  doing  what  you  ought 
to  do,  what  all  your  friends  wish  for  you,  what  would  be 
best  for  you.     It's  just  like  me.     I  can't  help  it." 

"  What  are  you  preventing  me  from  doing?" 

"  Oh,  you  know.  Irene  says  you  are  quite  getting  to 
like  her.     And  she  's  so  nice." 

"  But  Lady  Kilnorton  's  engaged  already." 

"You  know  I  don't  mean  Lady  Kilnorton.  Don't 
make  fun  now,  Ashley,  don't." 

Ashley  leant  forward  suddenly  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  Oh,  that 's  not  the  least  use,"  she  moaned  discon- 
solately. "  If  that  was  all  that's  wanted,  I  know  you  'd 
do  it."  A  mournful  smile  appeared  on  her  lips.  "  But 
it  only  makes  it  worse.  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to 
something." 

"  So  have  I.  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind  that  you  're  the 
most  charming  woman  in  the  world,  and  that  I  don't 
care  a  hang  about  anything  else." 

"  But  you  must,  you  know.     We  must  be  reasonable." 

"  Oh,  I  see  Irene  Kilnorton 's  been  very  disagreeable  !  " 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     115 

"It's  not  Irene  Kilnorton." 

"  Is  it  my  true  happiness,  then?" 

"  No,"  said  Ora,  with  another  fugitive  smile.  "  It 's 
not  exactly  your  true  happiness." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

Ora  was  silent  for  a  moment,  her  dark  eyes  filled  with 
woe. 

"There's  a  letter  on  the  mantel-piece,"  she  said. 
"Will  you  give  it  to  me?" 

He  rose  and  took  the  letter.  "  This  one  from 
America?"  he  asked.  "I  say,  you're  not  going  off 
there,  starring,  are  you?  Because  I  shall  have  to  come 
too,  you  know." 

"No,  I'm  not  going  there."  She  took  the  letter  out 
of  its  envelope.  "  Read  it,"  she  said,  and  handed  it 
to  him. 

Somehow,  before  he  read  a  word  of  it,  the  truth 
flashed  into  his  mind.  He  looked  at  her  and  said  one 
word:   "Fenning?" 

She  nodded  and  then  let  her  head  fall  back  on  the 
sofa.  He  read  the  letter  carefully  and  jealously ;  that  it 
was  written  by  a  friend's  hand  no  doubt  prevented  Jack 
Fenning  from  saying  more,  as  he  himself  hinted;  yet 
the  colourlessness  and  restraint  of  what  he  wrote  were  a 
comfort  to  Ashley. 

He  laid  the  letter  down  on  the  table  and  looked  for  a 
moment  at  his  own  picture.  Ora's  eyes  were  on  him ; 
he  leant  forward,  took  her  hand,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Poor  dear  !  "  said  he.  Then  he  folded  the  letter,  put 
it  in  its  envelope,  laid  the  envelope  on  the  mantel-piece, 
read  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  again  on  the  postmark,  and,  turn- 
ing, stood  looking  down  on  her.  He  had  not  got  quite 
home  to  the  heart  of  the  situation.  All  that  day  long, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  there  had  been  ineffectual  efforts  to 


116     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

stop  him,  to  turn  him  from  his  path,  and  to  rescue  him 
from  the  impulses  which  were  carrying  him  along.  The 
Buckingham  Palace  Road  proposal,  Irene  Kilnorton's 
hints,  Alice  Muddock's  presence,  had  all  been  as  it  were 
suggestions  to  him ;  he  had  not  heeded  the  suggestions. 
Now  came  something  more  categorical,  something  which 
must  receive  attention  and  insisted  on  being  heeded. 
Mr.  Fenning  had  suddenly  stepped  out  of  vagueness 
into  definiteness,  out  of  a  sort  of  hypothetical  into  a  very 
real  and  pressing  form  of  existence.  He  was  now  located 
in  space  at  Bridgeport,  Connecticut ;  he  was  palpable  in 
his  written  message ;  he  became  urgent  for  consideration 
by  virtue  of  his  proposal.  Ashley  had,  in  his  heart,  not 
taken  Mr.  Fenning  very  seriously;  now  Mr.  Fenning 
chose  to  upset  his  attitude  in  that  respect  in  a  most  de- 
cisive fashion.  For  whatever  Ora  decided  to  do,  there 
must  from  now  be  a  difference  ;  Ashley  could  not  doubt 
that.  She  might  accept  her  husband's  proposal ;  in  that 
case  her  whole  life  was  changed  and  his  with  it.  She 
might  refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with  it ;  but  then 
would  not  the  discarded  but  legitimate  claimant  on  her 
affections  and  her  society  force  her  and  him  out  of  the 
compromise  under  which  they  now  sheltered  themselves? 
Either  way,  Jack  Fenning  must  now  be  reckoned  with ; 
but  which  was  to  be  the  way? 

With  a  curious  sense  of  surviving  ignorance,  with  an 
uncomfortable  recognition  that  he  was  only  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  study  and  on  the  outskirts  of  a  knowledge 
of  the  woman  whom  he  already  loved  and  held  nearest 
to  him  of  anybody  in  the  world,  Ashley  discovered  that 
he  had  no  idea  in  which  way  Ora  would  face  the  situa- 
tion, what  would  be  her  temper,  or  what  her  decision. 
For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance  a  flash  of  dis- 
comfort, almost  of  apprehension,  shot  across  his  mind. 


THE   LEGITIMATE   CLAIMANT     117 

Was  she  as  alien,  as  foreign,  as  diverse  from  him  as  that? 
But  he  would  not  admit  the  feeling,  would  not  have  it 
or  recognise  it;  it  was  absurd,  he  told  himself,  to  expect 
to  foresee  her  choice,  when  he  knew  so  little  of  the  fac- 
tors which  must  decide  it.  Did  he  know  Fenning,  had 
he  been  privy  to  their  married  life?  Not  in  her  but  in 
the  nature  of  the  case  lay  the  puzzle.  He  dismissed  his 
doubt  and  leant  down  towards  the  sad  beautiful  face  be- 
side him. 

"  Well,  dear?  "  he  asked,  very  gently. 

"  I  'm  going  to  tell  him  to  come,"  said  she. 


CHAPTER   IX 
renunciation:   a  drama 

THE  words  in  which  Ora  declared  her  intention  of 
recalling  Jack  Fenning  to  her  side  and  of  taking 
up  again  the  burden  of  married  life  sounded  like  the 
statement  of  a  firm,  unalterable,  and  independent  resolu- 
tion ;  after  them  it  seemed  as  though  Ashley  had  only 
to  bow  his  head  and  go  his  ways ;  his  task  would  be,  if 
not  easy,  yet  plain  and  simple.  But  with  the  brave 
sound  came  the  appealing  glance ;  the  words  were  ut- 
tered more  like  a  prayer  than  a  decree.  She  had 
thrown  herself  on  his  mercy  in  the  inn  parlour  on  the 
Sunday ;  she  appeared  to  throw  herself  on  his  mercy 
again  now,  and  in  reality  to  await  his  determination 
rather  than  announce  her  own.  But  she  was  eager  to 
win  from  him  the  verdict  that  she  suggested ;  she  was 
not  hoping  for  a  refusal  while  she  satisfied  appearances 
by  asking.  The  appeal  was  full  of  fear  and  doubt,  but 
it  was  genuine  and  sincere.  Her  eyes  followed  him  as 
he  walked  to  the  window  and  as  he  came  back  and  stood 
again  before  her ;  she  watched  the  struggle  in  him  with 
anxiety-  Once  she  smiled  faintly  as  though  to  show  her 
understanding  and  her  sympathy  with  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind.     "  I  feel  all  that  too,"  she  seemed  to  say. 

"  Have  you  quite  made  up  your  mind?"  he  asked  her 
at  last.  "You've  realised  what  it  means?  I  don't 
know  him,  of  course,  and  you  do.    Well,  can  you  do  it?  " 

"  I  must  do  it.  I  ought  to  do  it,"  she  said  patheti- 
cally.    "  You  know  I  ought  to  do  it." 


RENUNCIATION:    A   DRAMA      119 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  probably  she  was  right 
there,  unless  Jack  Fenning  were  a  much  worse  calamity 
than  he  had  any  good  reason  for  supposing ;  certainly 
everybody  would  hold  her  right,  everybody  who  had 
not  queer  theories,  at  least. 

"  You  must  help  me,"  she  said.  He  was  silent.  She 
rose  and  came  to  stand  by  him,  speaking  to  him  in  a 
low  whisper.  "  Yes,  you  must  help  me,  you  must  make 
me  able  to  do  it.  I  can  do  it  if  you  help  me,  Ashley. 
It  is  right,  you  know." 

A  hint  of  amusement  shewed  itself  in  his  face. 

"  Perhaps,  but  I  shouldn't  have  thought  I  could  help 
you  much,"  he  said.  "  Unless  you  mean  by  going  away 
and  staying  away?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  cried  in  terror.  "  You  mustn't  go 
away,  you  mustn't  leave  me  alone,  I  should  die  if  you 
did  that  now.  It 's  a  thing  for  both  of  us  to  do ;  we 
must  help  one  another.  We  shall  make  one  another 
stronger.     Don't  you  see  what  I  mean  ?    You  won't  go  ?  " 

He  had  not  fathomed  her  mood  yet,  but  only  one 
answer  to  her  prayer  was  possible. 

"  I  won't  go  as  long  as  you  want  me,"  he  said. 

"  You  promise?     You  promise  me  that?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Yes,  I  promise,"  he  assured  her  with  another  smile. 

"  And  you  '11  make  it  easy  for  me  ?  "  She,  in  her  turn, 
smiled  a  moment.  "  I  mean  you  won't  make  it  too 
difficult?  I  must  be  good,  you  must  let  me  be  good. 
Some  people  say  you  're  happy  when  you  're  good.  I 
wonder  !     I  shall  be  very  miserable,  I  know." 

The  tears  were  standing  in  her  eyes ;  she  looked  in- 
deed very  miserable ;  he  kissed  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  as  though  he  had  told  her  in 
words  that  he  pitied  her  very  much ;  she  preserved  that 
childlike  sort  of  attitude  towards  caresses ;  to  Ashley  it 


120     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

seemed  to  make  kissing  her  almost  meritorious.  She 
saw  no  inconsistency  between  accepting  his  kisses  and 
holding  to  her  heroic  resolution;  it  seemed  almost  as 
though  she  must  be  kissed  to  enable  her  to  hold  to  her 
resolution ;  it  was  the  sympathy,  or  even  the  commen- 
dation, without  which  her  virtue  could  not  stand. 

"  I  can  do  it,"  she  said  plaintively.  Then  she  drew 
herself  up  a  little.  "Yes,  I  can,"  she  repeated  proudly, 
"  I  'm  sure  I  can.  We  can  do  what  we  ought,  if  we  try. 
Oh,  but  how  I  shall  hate  it !  If  only  it  had  come  a  little 
sooner  —  before —  before  our  Sunday  !  It  wouldn't  have 
been  so  bad,  then." 

"  No,  it  wouldn't,"  he  said. 

"  Poor  Ashley !  "  she  said,  pressing  his  hand.  "  Will 
it  be  very  hard  for  you  ?  " 

He  answered  with  the  shamefaced  brevity  and  re- 
serve with  which  men,  trained  as  he  had  been,  confess  to 
emotion. 

"  I  shan't  like  it,  naturally." 

"  But  you  must  be  strong  too,"  she  urged.  "  We 
must  make  each  other  strong."  She  returned  with  evi- 
dent comfort  to  this  idea  of  their  helping  one  another; 
they  were  to  fight  as  allies,  in  a  joint  battle,  not  each  to 
support  a  solitary  unaided  struggle.  To  most  people  it 
would  have  seemed  that  they  would  make  one  another 
weak.  Ora  was  sure  of  the  contrary ;  they  would  make 
one  another  strong,  support  one  another  against  temp- 
tation, and  applaud  one  another's  successes.  She  could 
be  good,  could  be  even  heroic,  could  perform  miracles 
of  duty  and  resignation,  if  she  had  the  help  of  Ashley's 
sympathy  and  the  comfort  of  his  presence.  And  he 
would  feel  the  same,  she  thought;  she  could  soften  the 
trial  to  which  she  was  obliged  to  subject  him;  she 
could    console    him ;    her    tender    grief  and    her   love, 


RENUNCIATION:   A   DRAMA       121 

ardent  while  renouncing,  would  inspire  him  to  the  task 
of  duty.  She  grew  eager  as  this  idea  took  shape  in 
her  mind;  she  pressed  it  on  him,  anxious  to  make 
him  see  it  in  the  aspect  in  which  she  saw  it,  to  under- 
stand the  truth  and  to  appreciate  the  beauty  that  lay 
in  it.  She  was  sure  it  was  true.  It  surprised  her  to 
find  this  beauty  also  in  it.  But  if  they  separated  now,  cut 
themselves  adrift  from  one  another,  and  went  off  their 
different  ways,  all  that  drew  her  in  the  picture  would  be 
destroyed,  and  she  would  be  left  without  the  balm  of 
its  melancholy  sweetness.  She  tried  by  every  means  in 
her  power  to  enlist  him  on  her  side  and  make  him  look 
at  the  question  as  she  looked  at  it. 

Always  obedient  to  her  pleading  orders,  never  able 
openly  to  reject  what  she  prayed  him  to  accept,  Ashley 
feigned  to  fall  in  with  an  idea  which  his  clearsightedness 
shewed  very  much  in  its  real  colours  and  traced  to  its 
true  origin.  It  had  begun  in  the  instinctive  desire  not 
to  lose  him  yet,  to  put  off  the  day  of  sacrifice,  to  recon- 
cile, so  far  as  might  be  possible,  two  inconsistent  courses, 
to  pay  duty  its  lawful  tribute  and  yet  keep  a  secret  dole  for 
the  rebel  emotion  which  she  loved.  Up  to  this  point  she 
was  on  ground  common  enough,  and  did  only  what  many 
men  and  women  seek  and  strive  to  do.  Her  individual 
nature  shewed  itself  in  the  next  step,  when  the  idea  that 
she  had  made  began  to  attract  her,  to  grow  beautiful,  to 
shape  itself  into  a  picture  of  renunciatory  passion,  mov- 
ing and  appealing  in  her  eyes.  But  there  must  be  other 
eyes ;  he  too  must  see ;  by  interchange  of  glances  they 
must  share  and  heighten  their  appreciation  of  what  they 
were  engaged  on.  Her  morality,  her  effort  to  be,  as 
she  put  it,  good,  must  not  only  be  liberally  touched  by 
emotion ;  it  must  be  supported  and  stimulated  by  sym- 
pathetic applause.     Reluctantly  and  almost  with  a  sense 


122     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

of  ungenerousness,  as  though  he  were  criticising  her  ill- 
naturedly,  he  found  himself  applying  to  her  the  terms 
of  her  own  art,  beginning  to  see  her  in  effective  scenes, 
to  detect  an  element  of  the  theatrical  in  her  mood.  This 
notion  came  to  him  without  bringing  with  it  any  repug- 
nance and  without  making  him  impute  to  her  any  insin- 
cerity. She  was  sincere  enough,  indeed  absolutely 
engrossed  in  her  emotion  and  in  the  picture  her  emotion 
made.  But  the  sincerity  was  more  of  emotion  than  of 
purpose,  and  the  emotion  demanded  applause  for  the 
splendid  feat  of  self-abnegation  which  it  was  to  enable 
her  and  him  to  achieve.  He  was  quite  incapable  of 
casting  this  glamour  round  his  own  share  in  the  matter, 
but  he  strove  to  feel  and  perceive  it  in  hers  as  she  pleaded 
softly  with  him  that  he  should  not  leave  her  to  struggle 
in  grim  solitude.  And  he  was  glad  of  any  excuse  for 
not  leaving  her. 

"  I  can't  think  yet  of  what  it  will  be  like  when  he  's 
come,"  she  said.  "I  mustn't  think  of  that,  or  —  or  I 
couldn't  go  on.  I  must  just  do  it  now;  that's  what 
we  've  got  to  do,  isn't  it?  We  must  get  it  done,  Ashley, 
and  leave  all  the  rest.  We  must  just  do  what 's  right 
without  looking  beyond  it." 

"  There  's  no  particular  good  in  looking  forward,"  he 
admitted  ruefully.     "  You  're  quite  clear  about  it?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  aren't  you?  I'm  sure  you  are."  She 
looked  at  him  apprehensively.  "  You  mustn't  turn 
against  me.  I  can  be  strong  with  you  to  help  me ;  I 
couldn't  be  strong  against  you."  Her  voice  fell  even 
lower.     "  Not  for  an  hour,"  she  ended  in  a  whisper. 

Again  she  threw  herself  on  his  mercy;  again  he 
could  not  fail  her  or  be  deaf  to  her  prayer. 

"  If  you  think  it  right,  I  can  say  nothing  against  it," 
he  said. 


RENUNCIATION:    A   DRAMA       128 

u  No.  You  wouldn't  be  happy  if  you  did ;  I  mean 
if  you  did  persuade  me  to  anything  else.  I  know  there 
aren't  many  men  like  you,  capable  of  doing  what  you  're 
going  to  do  for  me.     But  you  can  do  it" 

He  perceived  the  glamour  encircling  him  now  as  well 
as  her ;  quarrelling  with  his  own  words,  still  he  said  to 
himself  that  his  part  also  was  to  be  an  effective  one  ;  she 
was  liberal  to  him  and  shewed  no  desire  to  occupy  all 
the  stage ;  her  eyes  would  be  as  much  for  him  as  for 
herself. 

"  And  because  you  're  strong,  I  can  be  strong,"  she 
went  on.    "  We  shall  both  be  glad  afterwards,  shan't  we  ?  " 

"  Let 's  rest  in  the  consciousness  of  virtue,  and  never 
mind  the  gladness,"  he  suggested. 

Ora  discarded  the  gladness  almost  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Because  we  shall  both  be  terribly 
unhappy.  We  've  got  to  face  that.  We  aren't  doing  it 
blindly.     We  know  what  it  means." 

He  doubted  greatly  whether  she  knew  what  it  meant ; 
she  could  not  realise  its  meaning  so  long  as  she  refused 
to  look  forward  or  to  consider  the  actual  state  of  things 
when  Jack  Fenning  had  arrived,  so  long  as  she  preferred 
to  concentrate  all  her  gaze  on  the  drama  of  renunciation 
which  was  to  precede  and  bring  about  his  coming.  But 
in  all  this  there  was  only  an  added  pathos  to  him,  a 
stronger  appeal  to  his  compassion,  and  an  insuperable 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  even  trying  to  make  her  under- 
stand ;  such  an  attempt  seemed  brutal  in  his  eyes.  He 
could  comfort  her  now ;  he  could  not  tell  her  that  when 
the  moving  scene  ended  with  the  entrance  of  Jack 
Fenning  he  would  be  able  to  comfort  her  no  more. 

The  same  mood  which  prevented  her  from  looking 
forward  made  her  reluctant  to  talk  of  her  husband  as  he 
actually  was.     Under  pressure  of  Ashley's  questions  she 


124     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

told  him  that  she  had  begun  by  loving  Jack  and  had 
gone  on  liking  him  for  some  little  while;  but  that  he 
bore  poverty  badly  and  yet  was  indolent ;  that  he  often 
neglected  her  and  sometimes  had  been  unkind ;  that  he 
was  very  extravagant,  got  into  terrible  money  difficul- 
ties, and  had  been  known  to  turn  to  the  bottle  for  relief 
from  his  self-created  troubles.  But  she  became  very 
distressed  with  the  subject  and  obviously  preferred  to 
leave  Jack  Fenning  vague,  to  keep  him  to  the  part  of  a 
husband  in  the  abstract.  This  was  all  the  drama  needed  — 
a  husband  accepted  in  duty  but  no  longer  loved  or  de- 
sired;  the  personal  characteristics  or  peculiarities  of  the 
particular  husband  were  unessential  and  unimportant. 
Ashley  was  surprised  to  find  how  little  he  had  learnt 
about  Mr.  Fenning.  But  he  was  learning  more  about 
Mr.  Fenning's  wife. 

"  It's  not  what  he  is,"  urged  Ora,  "  it 's  what  we've 
got  to  do." 

By  now  Ashley  felt  irrevocably  coupled  with  her  in 
a  common  task;  and  to  him  at  least  the  precise  character 
of  the  husband  was  not  important.  They  were  to  act  on 
the  high  plane  of  duty;  Jack's  past  misdeeds  or  present 
defects  were  to  be  of  no  moment  except  in  so  far  as 
they  might  intensify  the  struggle  and  enhance  the  beauty 
of  renunciation.  Ashley  was  so  far  infected  with  her 
spirit  that  he  was  glad  to  be  left  with  a  number  of  im- 
pressions of  Jack  Fenning  all  vaguely  unfavourable. 

"  Nothing  will  ever  alter  or  spoil  the  memory  of  our 
Sunday,"  she  said.  "  It  '11  be  there  always,  the  one  sweet 
and  perfect  thing  in  life.  I  think  we  shall  find  it  even 
more  perfect  because  of  what  we  're  going  to  do.  I 
shall  think  about  it  every  day  as  long  as  I  live.  I  think 
it  helps  to  have  been  happy  just  once,  don't  you?  It  '11 
never  be  as  if  we  hadn't  known  we  loved  one  another." 


RENUNCIATION:    A   DRAMA       125 

With  the  dismissal  of  the  topic  of  Jack  Fenning's 
character  and  the  acceptance  of  the  position  that  they 
were  not  to  look  forward  beyond  the  act  of  renunciation, 
Ora  had  grown  composed,  cheerful,  and  at  moments  al- 
most gay.  Already  she  seemed  to  have  triumphed  in 
her  struggle,  or  their  struggle  as  she  always  called  it ; 
already  she  was  minded  to  exchange  congratulations 
with  her  ally.  Her  mere  presence  was  such  a  charm  to 
him  as  to  win  him  to  happiness,  even  while  they  were 
agreeing  that  happiness  was  impossible;  the  sense  of 
loss,  of  deprivation,  and  of  emptiness  was  postponed  and 
could  not  assert  itself  while  she  moved  before  his  eyes 
in  the  variety  of  her  beauty  and  grace.  Though  he 
could  accord  but  a  very  half-hearted  adhesion  to  the 
scheme  she  had  planned,  again  he  welcomed  it,  because 
for  the  time  at  least  it  left  her  to  him ;  nor  could  he  be  al- 
together sorrowful  when  she  made  her  great  and  confessed 
love  for  him  the  basis  on  which  the  whole  plan  rested, 
the  postulate  that  gave  to  the  drama  all  its  point  and  to 
the  sacrifice  all  its  merit.  If  she  were  triumphing  in  re- 
nunciation, he  triumphed  in  a  victory  no  less  great,  and 
hardly  less  sweet  because  the  fruits  of  it  were  denied  to 
him,  because  it  was  to  rank  as  a  memory,  and  not  to  be- 
come a  perpetual  joy.  At  least  she  loved  him,  trusted 
him,  depended  on  him ;  he  was  to  her  more  than  any 
man ;  he  was  her  choice.  He  would  not  have  changed 
parts  with  Jack  Fenning  although  he  had  to  go  out  of 
her  life  and  Jack  was  coming  into  it  again.  Surely  to 
be  desired  is  more  than  to  possess? 

"  I  suppose  people  suspect  about  us,"  she  said.  "  I  'm 
sure  Irene  does,  and  I  think  Miss  Muddock  does.  But 
we  Ve  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of;  we  can't  help  loving 
one  another  and  we  're  going  to  do  right."  She  paused 
a  moment,  and  then,  looking  at  him  with  a  timid  smile, 


126     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

added,  "  How  awfully  surprised  everybody  will  be  when 
they  hear  that  Jack 's  coming  back !  I  think  a  lot  of 
them  hardly  believed  in  him." 

No  doubt  she  divined  accurately  the  nature  of  a 
considerable  body  of  opinion. 

"  I  daresay  not,"  said  Ashley.  "  You  '11  tell  people 
what 's  going  to  happen?  " 

"  Just  my  friends.  It  would  look  so  odd  if  he  came 
without  any  warning." 

It  could  not  be  denied  that  she  was  interested  in 
thinking  of  the  effect  which  her  news  would  create. 
She  saw  herself  telling  it  to  people. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  announce  it  as  if  it  was  the  most 
ordinary  thing,"  she  went  on.  "  You  must  do  the  same  ; 
say  I  told  you  about  it.  They  '11  be  rather  puzzled, 
won't  they?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !  "  said  he,  half  laughing,  half  groaning, 
as  he  took  her  hand  for  a  moment  and  pressed  it  lightly. 
"  Yes,  I  daresay  they  '11  be  puzzled,"  he  added  with  a 
rueful  smile. 

"  We  mustn't  shew  we  notice  anything  of  that  sort," 
pursued  Ora.  "  Nobody  must  see  what  it  is  we  're 
really  doing.  They  won't  know  anything  about  it." 
Her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  his.  "  I  daresay  they  '11 
suspect,"  she  ended.     "  We  can't  help  that,  can  we?" 

"  We  must  keep  our  own  counsel." 

"  Yes.     If  they  like  to  talk,  they  must,  that 's  all." 

She  had  more  to  say  of  this  secret  of  theirs,  talked 
about,  guessed  at,  canvassed,  but  not  fully  understood 
and  never  betrayed ;  it  was  to  be  something  exclusively 
their  own,  hidden  and  sacred,  a  memory  for  ever  be- 
tween them,  a  puzzle  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  I  daresay  they  '11  guess  that  we  care  for  one  another," 
she  said,  "  but  they'll  never  know  the  whole  truth.     I 


RENUNCIATION:  A    DRAMA       127 

expect  they  wouldn't  believe  in  it  if  they  did.  They 
wouldn't  think  we  could  do  what  we  're  going  to." 

Not  till  he  prepared  to  go  did  her  sorrow  and  desola- 
tion again  become  acutely  felt.  She  held  his  arms  and 
prayed  him  not  to  leave  her. 

"  You  must  rest  a  little  while  and  eat  something  before 
you  go  to  the  theatre,"  he  reminded  her. 

"  No,  no,  don't  leave  me.  Stay  with  me,  do  stay  with 
me.  Why  can't  I  always  have  you  with  me?  Why 
shouldn't  I  ?  How  cruel  it  is  !  "  She  was  almost 
sobbing.     "  Ashley,  don't  go,"  she  whispered. 

"  Well,  I  won't  go,"  he  said.  "  I  '11  stay  and  dine  with 
you  and  take  you  to  the  theatre." 

"And  fetch  me  home  afterwards?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  '11  do  that  as  well." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  resentfully.  Ashley  shook 
his  head.  After  a  long  look  at  him  Ora  sighed  deeply. 
"  I  suppose  you  'd  better  not,"  she  admitted.  "  But 
you'll  stay  now,  won't  you?"  She  ran  across  to  the 
bell  and  rang  it;  her  tone  was  gay  as  she  told  Janet 
that  Mr.  Mead  would  dine  with  her ;  between  being  left 
now  and  being  left  two  hours  hence  a  gulf  of  difference 
yawned. 

"  I  'm  afraid  there  's  not  much  dinner,  ma'am,"  said 
Janet  in  a  discouraging,  perhaps  a  disapproving,  way. 

"  Oh,  you  won't  mind  that,  will  you?"  she  cried  to 
Ashley,  and  when  Janet  went  out  she  sighed,  "  It 's  so 
nice  to  have  you."  His  smile  had  mockery  in  it  as  well 
as  love.  "  It 's  for  such  a  little  while  too,"  she  went  on. 
"  Presently  I  shan't  have  you  at  all." 

The  little  meal  that  they  took  together  —  Ashley 
ignoring  an  engagement  to  dine  with  friends,  Ora  seem- 
ing unmindful  of  things  much  harder  to  forget — was 
not  a  sorrowful  feast.    The  shadow  of  the  great  renuncia- 


128     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

tion  did  not  eclipse  Ora's  gaiety,  but  tempered  it  with  a 
soft  tenderness.  None  of  her  many  phases  had  charmed 
her  friend  more ;  never  had  she  seemed  stronger  in  her 
claim  on  his  service,  more  irresistible  in  the  weakness 
with  which  she  rested  her  life  on  his.  His  taste,  his 
theoretical  taste,  had  not  been  for  women  of  this  type, 
but  rather,  as  he  used  to  put  it,  for  a  woman  with  a 
backbone,  a  woman  like  Alice  Muddock;  theoretical 
preferences  exist  to  be  overthrown. 

The  unpretentious  "jobbed"  victoria  was  waiting  at 
the  door,  and  at  last  Ora  made  up  her  mind  to  start.  It 
was  but  a  little  after  seven,  the  streets  were  still  light 
and  full.  The  beginning  of  the  renunciation  might  have 
seemed  a  strange  one  to  the  passer-by  who  recognised 
the  occupants  of  the  victoria.  Many  looked  at  Ora, 
thinking  they  had  seen  her  before ;  some  certainly  knew 
her,  some  also  knew  Ashley.  In  reply  to  a  not  very 
serious  expostulation  from  her  companion  Ora  declared 
that  it  did  not  matter  if  people  gossipped  a  little,  be- 
cause her  announcement  would  put  an  end  to  it  all 
directly;  meanwhile  shouldn't  they  enjoy  themselves 
while  they  could?  "If  you  hadn't  taken  me  to  the 
theatre  to-night,  I  could  never  have  got  there,"  she 
declared  with  conviction.  Ashley  knew  quite  well  that 
this  was  not  literal  truth  and  that  she  would  have  gone 
anyhow;  whatever  had  happened  to  her,  her  instinct 
would  have  taken  her ;  but  the  untruth  had  a  truth  in  it 
and  she  thought  it  all  true.  It  was  an  instance  of  the 
way  in  which  she  had  put  herself  in  his  hands,  had  told 
him  what  she  wanted  him  to  do  with  her,  and  was  now 
leaving  him  to  do  it.  He  had,  in  a  slang  phrase  which 
came  into  his  mind,  "  to  see  her  through ;  "  he  had  to 
ensure  that  the  great  renunciation  should  be  properly 
carried  out.     It  was  consoling,  although  no  doubt  some- 


RENUNCIATION:   A  DRAMA      129 

what  whimsical,  that  the  renunciation  should  seem  to 
excuse  what  but  for  it  would  have  been  condemned  as 
an  imprudence,  and,  while  dooming  them  to  ultimate 
separation,  should  excuse  or  justify  them  in  being  as 
much  together  as  they  could  in  the  present.  It  was 
"  only  for  a  little  while ;  "  the  coming  of  Jack  Fenning 
would  end  their  pleasant  hours  and  silence  those  who 
cavilled  at  them.  The  consciousness  of  their  approach- 
ing virtue  bred  in  Ora,  and  even  in  Ashley  to  some 
degree,  both  a  sense  of  security  and  a  tendency  to 
recklessness;  it  seemed  as  though  they  had  had  no 
reason  to  fear  either  themselves  or  other  people. 

"  You  might  come  and  fetch  me  afterwards,"  she  said 
coaxingly. 

But  here  he  stood  firm  and  repeated  his  refusal.  She 
seemed  surprised  and  a  little  hurt.  But  at  the  moment 
Babba  Flint  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  from  the  pavement 
with  much  empressement. 

"  The  story  of  our  drive  will  be  half  over  London  by 
midnight,"  said  Ashley. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  now,"  she  assured  him,  lightly 
touching  his  hand. 

"  Shall  you  write  soon  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  to-morrow,"  she  said.  An  idea  seemed  to 
strike  her.     "  Hadn't  I  better  telegraph?  "  she  asked. 

"Wouldn't  that  look  unnecessarily  eager?  "  he  sug- 
gested. The  notion  of  a  telegram  stirred  a  jealousy, 
not  of  any  real  fact,  but  of  the  impression  that  it  might 
convey  to  Mr.  Fenning.  He  did  not  wish  Jack  Fenning 
to  suppose  that  his  home-coming  was  joyously  awaited. 
Ora  had  been  caught  with  the  attraction  of  a  telegram ; 
it  would  emphasise  the  renunciation;  but  she  under- 
stood the  objection. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  'd  better  write.     Because  I  shall 

9 


130     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

have  to  explain  the  reasons  for  what  I  'm  doing  and  tell 
him  how  —  how  we  're  to  be  to  one  another."  She 
glanced  at  Ashley.  He  was  looking  straight  in  front  of 
him.    "  I  '11  shew  you  the  letter,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  the  letter;  I  won't  see  it,"  he 
returned. 

"  Oh,  it  is  hard  for  both  of  us !  "  she  sighed.  "  But 
you  know,  dear,  you  know  so  well  what  you  are  to  me ; 
nobody  ever  has  been  or  ever  will  be  what  you  are. 
Won't  you  see  the  letter?" 

"  No,  I  won't  see  the  letter." 

Ora  was  disappointed  ;  she  would  have  liked  sympathy 
and  appreciation  for  the  letter.  Since  these  were  not 
to  be  had,  she  determined  to  send  quite  a  short  business- 
like letter. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  enter  on  any  sort  of  dis- 
cussion. I  shall  just  tell  him  that  I  don't  feel  justified  in 
refusing  him  leave  to  come.  That'll  be  best;  after- 
wards we  must  be  guided  by  circumstances." 

The  "  we  "  amused  Ashley,  for  undoubtedly  it  served 
to  couple  Ora  and  himself,  not  Ora  and  her  husband ; 
from  time  to  time  he  awoke  for  a  moment  to  the  queer 
humour  of  the  situation. 

"  We  must  see  how  he  behaves  himself,"  he  said,  — 
smiling. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented  gravely,  but  a  moment  later,  see- 
ing his  amusement,  she  broke  into  a  responsive  laugh, 
"  I  know  why  you  're  smiling,"  she  said  with  a  little  nod, 
"but  it  is  like  that,  isn't  it?" 

Perhaps  for  the  time  it  was,  but  it  was  very  clear  to 
him  that  it  could  not  go  on  being.  Professing  to  think 
of  nothing  but  the  renunciation,  she  had  begun  to  con- 
struct an  entirely  impossible  fabric  of  life  on  the  basis 
of  it.     In  this  fabric  Ashley  played  a  large  part;   but  no 


RENUNCIATION:    A   DRAMA       131 

fabric  could  stand  in  which  both  he  and  Jack  Fenning 
played  large  parts;  and  Jack's  part  was  necessarily  large 
in  any  fabric  built  with  the  renunciation  for  its  corner- 
stone. Else  where  was  the  renunciation,  where  its  virtue 
and  its  beauty? 

To  see  the  impossibility  of  a  situation  and  its  neces- 
sary tendency  to  run  into  an  impasse  is  logically  the 
forerunner  to  taking  some  step  to  end  it.  Since,  how- 
ever, logic  is  but  one  of  several  equal  combatants  in 
human  hearts,  men  often  do  not  act  in  accordance  with 
its  rules.  They  wait  to  have  the  situation  ended  for 
them  from  without ;  a  sort  of  fatalism  gains  sway  over 
them  and  is  intensified  by  every  growth  of  the  difficulty 
in  which  they  find  themselves.  Unconvinced  by  Ora's 
scheme  and  not  thoroughly  in  harmony  with  her  mood, 
Ashley  acted  as  though  the  one  satisfied  and  the  other 
entirely  dominated  him.  When  they  parted  at  the 
theatre  door  there  were  two  understandings  arrived  at 
between  them,  both  suggested  by  her,  both  accepted 
obediently  by  him.  One  was  that  he  should  not  fail  to 
come  and  see  her  next  day,  and  the  day  after,  and  the 
day  following  on  that;  to  this  he  pledged  himself  under 
sanction  of  his  promise  to  be  her  ally  in  the  struggle  and 
not  to  forsake  her.  The  other  arrangement  was  that  the 
letter  of  recall  should  be  written  and  despatched  to  Jack 
Fenning  within  twenty-four  hours.  Ora  reluctantly 
agreed  that  Ashley  should  not  have  any  hand  in  its 
composition  or  even  see  it  before  it  was  sent,  but  she 
was  sure  that  she  not  only  must  but  also  ought  to  render 
to  him  a  very  clear  and  full  account  of  all  that  it  did  and 
did  not  contain. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  un- 
willing farewell,  "  we  're  going  to  fight  this  battle 
together,  aren't  we?"      He  nodded.     "I  couldn't  fight 


132     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

it  without  you,  indeed  I  couldn't,"  were  the  last  words 
she  spoke  to  him ;  they  came  with  all  the  added  force 
of  the  last  imploring  look  from  her  eyes  and  the  last 
pleading  smile  on  her  lips. 

Then  the  theatre  swallowed  her  up,  and  he  was  left  to 
walk  home,  to  remember  his  neglected  engagement,  to 
telegraph  excuses  in  regard  to  it,  then  speedily  again 
to  forget  it,  and  to  spend  an  evening  in  which  despair, 
wonder,  tenderness,  and  amusement  each  had  their  turn 
with  him.  He  had  not  lost  her  yet,  but  he  must  lose 
her;  this  idea  of  hers  was  absurd,  ludicrous,  impossible, 
yet  it  was  also  sweet,  persuasive,  above  all  expressive  of 
her  in  her  mingled  power  and  weakness.  It  was  herself; 
and  from  it,  therefore,  he  could  no  more  escape  than  he 
could  from  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   LICENCE    OF  VIRTUE 

IRENE  KILNORTON  was  in  a  state  of  pardonable 
irritation ;  just  now  she  often  inclined  to  irritation, 
but  the  immediate  cause  of  this  fit  and  its  sufficient  ex- 
cuse lay  in  Babba  Flint's  behaviour.  If  only  he  could 
have  believed  it,  he  always  annoyed  her ;  but  it  was  out- 
rageous beyond  the  common  to  come  on  her  "  At 
Home"  day,  and  openly  scout  her  most  interesting, 
most  exciting,  most  comforting  piece  of  news.  He 
stuck  his  glass  in  his  eye,  stared  through  it  an  instant, 
and  dropped  it  with  an  air  of  contemptuous  incredulity. 

"  She  told  me  herself,"  said  Irene  angrily.  "  I  sup- 
pose that 's  pretty  good  authority." 

"  The  very  worst,"  retorted  Babba  calmly.  "  She  's 
just  the  person  who  has  an  interest  in  spreading  the 
idea.  Mind  you,  I  don't  say  he  doesn't  exist;  I  reserve 
judgment  as  to  that  because  I  'm  aware  that  he  used  to. 
But  I  do  say  he  won't  turn  up,  and  I  'm  willing  to  take 
any  reasonable  bet  on  the  subject.  In  fact  the  whole 
thing  is  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff." 

"What  whole  thing?"  She  spoke  low,  she  did  not 
want  the  rest  to  hear. 

Babba  spread  his  hands  in  a  deprecating  toleration 
for  his  hostess'  density. 

"  She  's  everywhere  with  Mead,"  he  said.  "  Drives 
to  the  theatre  with  him,  you  know,  walks  with  him,  talks 
about  him." 

"  That  doesn't  explain  anything,  even  if  it 's  true." 


134    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Doesn't  it?  When  you  're  being  indiscreet,  lay  em- 
phasis on  your  husband.  That's  the  standing  rule, 
Lady  Kilnorton.  You  '11  see ;  when  she  gets  tired  of 
Mead,  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  Jack  Fenning." 

Irene  looked  at  him  resentfully;  he  was  abominably 
confident.  And  after  all  Ora  was  a  strange  being;  in 
spite  of  their  friendship,  still  outside  her  comprehension 
and  not  reducible  to  her  formulas. 

"  But  she 's  full  of  his  coming,"  she  expostulated. 
"She's  —  well,  not  exactly  glad,  I  suppose  —  " 

"I  should  suppose  not,"  smiled  Babba. 

"  But  quite  excited  about  it.  And  Mr.  Mead  knows 
he  's  coming  too." 

"  No  doubt  Mead  says  he  knows  he 's  coming." 
Babba  had  once  served  his  articles  to  a  solicitor,  and 
reminiscences  of  the  rules  of  evidence  and  the  value  of 
testimony  hung  about  him. 

"  Well,  I  believe  he  '11  come,"  Irene  declared  with  ex- 
ternal firmness  and  an  internal  faintness. 

"  He  won't,  you  '11  see,"  returned  Babba  placidly. 

Desiring  an  end  to  this  vexatious  conversation,  Irene 
cast  her  eyes  round  her  guests  who  were  engaged  in 
drinking  tea  and  making  talk  to  one  another.  Her 
glance  detached  Bowdon  from  his  attendance  on  Minna 
Soames  and  brought  him  to  her  side;  Babba,  however, 
did  not  move  away. 

"  The  whole  thing  is  very  likely  a  despairing  effort  of 
Miss  Pinsent's  conscience,"  he  said.  "  How  are  you, 
Lord  Bowdon  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Babba,  you  here?  Gossipping  as  usual,  I 
see." 

"  He  says  Ora's  husband  won't  come." 

"  Well,  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  I  '11  take  six  to  four,"  said  Babba  eagerly. 


THE   LICENCE   OF   VIRTUE      135 

"  I  don't  think  I  care  to  bet  about  it,"  said  Bowdon. 

"  Ah,  I  expect  not !  "  For  Babba  the  only  possible 
reason  against  making  any  bet  in  the  world  was  the 
fear  of  losing  it. 

"  Do  go  and  talk  to  Minna  Soames,"  Irene  implored 
him.  "  She  '11  be  ready  enough  to  disbelieve  anything 
creditable  about  poor  Ora."  Babba  smiled  knowingly 
and  began  to  edge  away.  Bowdon  sat  down  by  his 
fiancee.  "I  do  believe  it,  you  know,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing to  him.     Babba  looked  back  with  a  derisive  smile. 

'•'Why  should  she  say  it,  if  it's  not  true?"  asked 
Irene,  addressing  Bowdon  and  pointedly  ignoring 
Babba. 

"Oh,  no  doubt  it's  true,"  said  Bowdon.  "Why 
shouldn't  it  be  true?" 

Babba  had  put  forward  the  constant  companionship 
of  Ora  and  Ashley  Mead  at  once  as  evidence  that  the 
report  was  not  true  and  as  the  explanation  of  its  being 
circulated ;  Irene  was  inclined  to  attribute  to  it  only  the 
first  of  these  functions. 

"  She  goes  on  very  oddly,  if  it  is,"  she  murmured. 
"  But  then  she  is  odd." 

"  It 's  true,  depend  upon  it,"  said  Bowdon. 

His  solid  persistence  both  comforted  and  exasperated 
her.  She  desired  to  think  the  report  true,  but  she  did 
not  wish  him  to  accept  it  merely  in  the  unquestioning 
loyalty  to  Ora  Pinsent  which  his  tone  implied.  A  thing 
was  not  true  simply  because  Ora  chose  to  say  it;  men 
lose  all  their  common-sense  where  a  woman  is  con- 
cerned; so  say  women  themselves;  so  said  Irene 
Kilnorton. 

"  What  impresses  me,"  she  went  on,  "  is  that  Ashley 
Mead  told  me." 

"  I  suppose  he  got  his  information  from  her." 


136    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"Of  course;  but  he  can  judge."  She  paused  and 
added,  "  It 's  a  very  good  thing,  if  it  is  true." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Bowdon.  The  question  was  an 
almost  naked  dissent. 

Irene  looked  at  him  severely. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  observed,  "  that  men  ought  to 
pretend  to  approve  of  respectability.  One  doesn't  ask 
them  to  be  respectable." 

"  The  man  's  a  scamp,  according  to  all  accounts." 

"  He  's  her  husband." 

"  He  '11  make  her  miserable,  and  take  her  money,  and 
so  on." 

"  No  doubt  his  arrival  will  be  inconvenient  in  a  good 
many  ways,"  Irene  allowed  herself  to  remark  with  sig- 
nificant emphasis.  She  had,  she  declared,  no  patience 
with  the  way  men  looked  at  such  things ;  the  man  was 
the  woman's  husband  after  all.  She  found  growing  in 
her  a  strong  disposition  to  champion  Mr.  Fenning's 
cause  through  thick  and  thin.  "  We  don't  know  his 
version  of  the  case,"  she  reminded  Bowdon  after  a 
pause. 

"  Oh,  that 's  true,  of  course,"  he  conceded  with  what 
she  felt  was  an  empty  show  of  fairness.  In  reality  he 
had  prejudged  the  case  and  condemned  the  absent  and 
unheard  defendant.  That  was  because  he  was  a  man 
and  Ora  Pinsent  good-looking;  a  habit  regrettable  in 
men  generally  becomes  exasperating,  almost  insulting, 
in  one's  own  lover,  especially  with  circumstances  of  a 
peculiar  nature  existing  in  the  past  and  still  very  vivid 
in  memory. 

One  way  in  which  the  news  affected  Bowdon  he  had 
allowed  Irene  to  perceive ;  he  was  not  at  his  ease  as  to 
how  Ora  would  fare,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  jealousy 
in  his  picture  of  Mr.  Fenning's  probable  conduct.     But 


THE   LICENCE  OF  VIRTUE      137 

he  was  conscious  also  of  thankfulness  that  he  had 
escaped  from  the  sort  of  position  in  which  he  might 
have  been  placed  had  he  yielded  to  his  impulse,  and  in 
which,  so  far  as  he  saw,  Ashley  Mead  was  now  in- 
volved. His  dignity  would  not  have  suffered  him  to 
enter  into  any  rivalry  with  Fenning,  while  to  leave  the 
field  clear  to  Fenning  would  have  been  a  sacrifice  hard 
to  make.  From  this  evil  fortune  the  woman  by  him 
had  rescued  him,  or  enabled  him  to  rescue  himself,  and 
he  was  full  of  gratitude  to  her ;  while  she  was  still  re- 
senting the  jealousy  which  he  had  betrayed  with  regard 
to  Ora  Pinsent,  he  surprised  her  by  some  whispered 
words  of  more  tenderness  than  he  commonly  used  and 
by  a  look  which  sent  new  hope  through  her.  Suddenly 
she  grasped  that  this  event  might  do  what  she  had  not 
been  able  to  do,  might  reconcile  him  to  what  was, 
gradually  wean  him  wholly  from  the  thought  of  what 
might  have  been,  and  in  the  end  render  him  to  her 
entirely  her  own  in  heart  and  soul.  She  would  be  very 
grateful  to  Jack  Fenning  if  he  accomplished  that  for 
her;   he  would  have  remade  her  life. 

"  You  're  quite  gallant  to-day,"  she  whispered  with  a 
blush  and  a  glad  sparkle  in  her  eyes.  "  We  were  very 
nearly  quarrelling  just  now,  weren't  we?"  she  asked 
with  a  bright  smile. 

"  We  '11  never  be  nearer,  my  dear,"  he  answered ;  he 
had  the  most  intense  desire  to  please  her. 

"  And  about  this  Fenning  man  !  Imagine  !  "  she 
whispered  in  scornful  amusement. 

Bowdon  went  off  to  the  House  and  the  other  guests 
took  their  leave.  When  all  had  gone  Alice  Muddock 
arrived ;  the  two  ladies  had  arranged  to  dine  and  spend 
a  quiet  hour  together  before  they  went  to  the  parties 
for  which  they  were  engaged.     When   they  were  left 


138     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

alone  Alice,  with  a  sigh,  told  her  friend  that  Queen's 
Gate  seemed  like  a  refuge. 

"  We  've  been  so  uncomfortable  at  home  the  last  few 
days,"  she  explained.  "  At  least  I  've  found  it  very  un- 
comfortable. You  know  about  Ashley  and  the  busi- 
ness? Well,  father's  furious  with  him  about  it,  so 's 
Bob,  so's  my  stepmother,  of  course.  And  then  —  " 
She  paused  as  though  in  hesitation. 

"Well,  and  then?"  asked  Irene  Kilnorton. 

"  Bob  's  brought  home  a  lot  of  gossip  about  him  from 
the  club.  Has  Mr.  Flint  been  here?"  Lady  Kilnorton 
nodded  tragically.  "  He  told  Bob  something,  and 
father's  furious  about  that  too.  So  he  won't  hear 
Ashley's  name  mentioned,  and  takes  his  revenge  by 
having  Bertie  Jewett  always  in  the  house.  And  I  don't 
think  I  much  like  Bertie  Jewett,  not  every  day  anyhow." 

"  I  've  only  just  made  his  acquaintance  —  through 
your  brother." 

"  Oh,  he  's  just  what  he  would  be ;  it 's  not  his  fault, 
you  know."  She  began  to  laugh.  "  He  pays  me  marked 
attentions." 

"  The  Industrious  Apprentice  !  "  said  Irene  with  a 
nod.     "  Ashley  's  the  idle  one." 

"  It 's  all  very  absurd  and  very  tiresome."  She  had 
risen  and  walked  across  the  room.  From  the  other  end 
of  it  she  asked  abruptly,  "  What  do  they  say  about  him 
and  Miss  Pinsent?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  what  don't  they  say  about  everybody?  " 

"I  don't  believe  it.  I  like  her;  and  of  course  I  like 
him." 

"  And  I  expect  they  like  one  another,  so  it 's  all 
harmonious,"  said  Irene;  but  she  repented  the  next 
moment.  "  I  don't  believe  anything  bad.  But  he 's 
very  silly  about  her.     It '11  all  pass."     After  a  moment, 


THE   LICENCE   OF  VIRTUE      139 

thanks  to  the  new  hope  in  her,  she  added  a  courageous 
generalisation.  "  Such  nonsense  never  lasts  long,"  she 
said.  Then  she  looked  at  Alice,  and  it  struck  her 
suddenly  that  Alice  would  have  referred  to  the  news 
about  Jack  Fenning,  had  she  known  it;  it  seemed  odd 
that  everybody  should  not  have  heard  of  a  subject 
so  rich  in  interest. 

"  You  know  about  Mr.  Fenning?  "  she  asked. 

"Mr — ?  Oh,  yes!  You  mean  Miss  Pinsent's 
husband?     I  know  she  has  a  husband,  of  course." 

Then  she  did  not  know  the  new  development. 

"  I  've  got  a  bit  of  news  for  you,"  said  Irene  luxuri- 
ously.    "  Guess." 

"  I  won't  guess  even  to  please  you.  I  hate  guess- 
ing." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Fenning  's  coming  home.  I  '11  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

Beyond  the  bare  fact  there  was  in  reality  very  little 
to  tell,  but  the  fact  was  capable  of  being  clothed  with  so 
much  meaning,  of  being  invested  with  so  many  attendant 
possibilities,  of  taking  on  such  various  colours,  that  it 
seemed  in  itself  a  budget  of  news.  Alice  did  justice  to 
its  claims ;  she  was  undeniably  interested ;  the  two 
found  themselves  talking  it  over  in  a  vein  which  pre- 
vented them  from  pretending  to  one  another  that  they 
were  not  both  excited  about  it.  They  felt  like  allies 
who  rejoiced  together  at  the  coming  of  a  reinforcement. 
Irene's  satisfaction  was  open  and  declared ;  Alice  was 
more  reticent  and  inclined  to  thoughtfulness.  But  even 
as  an  abstract  existence  on  the  other  side  of  the  world 
Mr.  Fenning  had  comforted  her;  his  virtue  as  a  balm 
was  endlessly  multiplied  by  the  prospect  of  his  arrival 
in  concrete  form  and  flesh. 

"  The  men  amuse  me,"  said  Irene  loftily.     "  They're 


140     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

all  pitying  Ora;  they  don't  seem  to  give  a  thought  to 
poor  Mr.  Fenning." 

"Have  you  seen  Ashley  since  —  since  the  news 
came?  " 

"  Yes,  but  only  for  a  minute.  He  mentioned  it  as 
certain,  but  quite  indifferently.  Of  course  he  'd  pretend 
to  be  indifferent." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Alice.     "  Perhaps  he  is  really." 

"  How  can  he  be?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  means  to  take  no  notice  of  Mr.  Fen- 
ning." 

"  My  dearest  Alice  !  "  cried  Irene.  "  You  absolutely 
shock  me.  Besides  it  isn't  like  that  at  all.  Ora 's  most 
excited  about  his  coming.  I  can't  make  them  out, 
though." 

They  fell  to  debating  the  constant  companionship ; 
the  drive  to  the  theatre,  improved  by  Babba  Flint's 
tongue  into  an  invariable  habit,  was  a  puzzle,  fitting 
very  badly  with  an  excited  interest  in  Mr.  Fenning's 
return.  From  these  unprofitable  enquiries  they  agreed 
to  retreat  to  the  solid  basis  of  hope  which  the  reappear- 
ance of  the  husband  gave ;  on  that  they  congratulated 
one  another. 

Common  danger  breeds  candour;  common  good 
fortune  breeds  candour;  finally,  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  breeds 
candour.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  sweets  Irene 
Kilnorton,  in  the  course  of  a  demonstration  that  Ashley 
must  and  would  get  over  his  infatuation,  that  such 
nonsense  never  lasted,  and  that  Mr.  Fenning's  return 
would  put  a  summary  end  to  anything  of  the  sort,  had 
confided  to  her  friend  that  just  for  a  little  while  Lord 
Bowdon  had  shewn  signs  of  an  inclination  to  hover 
round  the  same  perilous  flame.  She  was  able  to  reveal 
the  secret  now,  because  she  was  so  full  of  hope  that  it 


THE   LICENCE   OF   VIRTUE      141 

was  all  a  thing  of  the  past;   she  found  her  confidence 
itself  strengthened  by  a  bold  assertion  of  it. 

"  Frank  's  got  over  it  pretty  quickly,  anyhow,"  she 
ended  with  a  secure  laugh. 

Alice  was  not  so  expansive,  she  had  not  victory  to 
justify  her;  she  said  nothing  in  words,  but  when  Irene 
accompanied  her  "  It  '11  all  come  right,  dear,  you  '11 
see,"  with  a  squeeze  of  the  hand,  she  blushed  and  smiled, 
returned  the  squeeze,  and  kissed  her  friend  on  the  first 
convenient  opportunity.  For  all  practical  purposes  the 
confession  was  complete,  and  the  alliance  sealed  anew, 
—  with  the  addition  of  a  third,  involuntary,  and  un- 
conscious member  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Jack  Fenning  of 
Bridgeport,  Connecticut. 

At  Alice's  party  Ashley  Mead  appeared.  Lady 
Muddock  made  timid  efforts  to  avoid  him  and  ludicrously 
timid  attempts  to  snub  him.  He  laughed  at  both,  and 
insisted  on  talking  to  her  with  great  cordiality  for  ten 
minutes  before  he  carried  Alice  off  to  supper.  Her  he 
treated  with  even  more  than  his  usual  friendly  intimacy  ; 
he  surprised  her  by  displaying  very  high  spirits.  All 
went  well  with  him,  it  seemed ;  he  had  been  paid  fine 
compliments  on  his  work  as  secretary  to  the  Com- 
mission; his  acceptance  of  the  post  promised  to  help 
rather  than  hinder  him  at  the  Bar;  he  had  received  a 
suggestion  that  he  should  try  his  hand  at  a  couple  of 
articles  a  week  for  an  important  journal. 

"It's  all  quite  wrong,  of  course,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  After  refusing  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  I  ought  to 
be  reduced  to  starvation  and  have  to  crawl  back  like  the 
Prodigal  Son.  But  the  course  of  events  is  terribly  unre- 
generate;  it's  always  missing  the  moral.  The  world 
isn't  very  moral,  left  to  itself." 

Alice  loved  him  in  this  mood  of  gaiety;  her  own  se- 


142     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

rious  and  sober  disposition  found  relief  in  it.  But  she 
liked  it  more  as  a  flower  of  talk  than  as  a  living  rule  of 
action. 

"  I  'm  so  glad,"  she  said,  with  full  sincerity.  "  Of 
course  I  knew  that  your  getting  on  was  only  a  matter  of 
time." 

"  I  really  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  I  Ve  at  last  just  got 
the  knife  between  the  outside  edges  of  the  oyster  shell. 
I  hope  it's  a  good  oyster  inside,  though ! " 

"  It 's  sure  to  be  a  good  one  for  you,"  was  her  answer. 
She  could  not  help  giving  him  that  sort  of  answer;  if  it 
betrayed  her,  she  must  bear  the  betrayal.  She  gave  him 
the  answer  even  now,  when  he  was  under  the  ban  of 
heavy  disapproval  on  account  of  Ora  Pinsent.  But  she 
wondered  to  find  him  so  gay,  in  a  state  of  such  content- 
ment with  the  world,  and  of  such  interest  in  it.  Bearing 
in  mind  what  she  now  knew,  she  would  not  have  mar- 
velled to  find  him  in  deepest  depression  or  even  in  a 
hardly  controlled  despair.  He  looked  down  in  her  face 
with  a  merry  laugh  and  some  trifling  joke  which  was 
only  an  excuse  for  it;  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her  face,  appar- 
ently in  a  frank  enjoyment  of  what  he  found  there.  But 
what  could  he,  who  looked  daily  on  the  face  of  Ora 
Pinsent,  find  there?  His  pleasure  was  absurd,  she  told 
herself,  but  it  won  upon  her ;  at  least  she  was  not  bor- 
ing him ;  for  the  moment  anyhow  he  was  not  wishing 
himself  somewhere  else.  Here  was  a  transient  triumph 
over  the  lady  with  whom  the  gossips  linked  his  name ; 
to  Alice's  modesty  it  was  much  to  make  forgotten  in 
absence  one  in  whose  presence  she  herself  must  have 
been  at  once  forgotten. 

He  began  to  flirt  with  her ;  he  had  done  the  same 
thing  before,  now  and  then,  by  way  of  a  change  she  sup- 
posed, perhaps  lest  their  friendship  should  sink  too  far 


THE   LICENCE   OF  VIRTUE      143 

into  the  brotherly-sisterly  state.  She  desired  this  state 
less  than  he,  but  his  deviations  from  it  brought  her  pleas- 
ure alloyed  with  pain.  Indeed  she  could  not,  as  she 
admitted,  quite  understand  flirtation ;  had  it  been  all 
pretence  she  could  have  judged  and  would  have  con- 
demned, but  a  thing  so  largely  made  up  of  pretence,  and 
yet  redeemed  from  mere  pretence  by  a  genuineness  of 
the  moment's  mood,  puzzled  her.  Fretfully  aware  of  a 
serious  bent  in  herself,  of  a  temper  perilously  near  to  a 
dull  literalness,  she  always  tried  to  answer  in  kind  when 
he,  or  indeed  anybody  else,  offered  to  engage  in  the 
game  with  her.  When  it  was  Ashley  she  used  to  aban- 
don herself,  so  far  as  her  nature  allowed  her,  to  the 
present  pleasure,  but  never  got  rid  of  the  twofold  feeling 
that  he  did  not  mean  what  he  said  and  that  he  ought  to 
mean  more  than  he  said.  That  he  should  flirt  with  her  now 
was  especially  strange.  She  did  not  do  him  the  injustice 
of  supposing  that  he  was  employing  her  merely  in  order 
to  throw  the  critics  of  his  relations  with  Ora  off  the  scent. 
She  came  nearer  to  the  truth  in  concluding  that  the 
flirtation,  like  the  rest  of  his  bearing,  was  merely  an  out- 
come of  general  good-humour.  The  puzzle  was  post- 
poned only  one  stage ;  how  could  he  be  in  good-humour, 
how  did  he  contrive  to  rejoice  in  his  life  and  exult  in  it? 
He  was  in  love  with  Ora  Pinsent ;  such  a  love  was  hope- 
less if  not  disastrous,  disastrous  if  not  hopeless ;  in  any 
aspect  that  she  could  perceive  it  was  irremediably  tragic. 
But  Ashley  Mead  was  radiant. 

The  idea  which  Irene  Kilnorton  said  absolutely  shocked 
her  recurred  as  a  possible  explanation ;  did  he  mean  to 
take  no  notice  of  Mr.  Fenning?  An  alarmed  horror 
filled  her;  her  love  and  her  moral  code  joined  in  an 
urgent  protest.  Such  a  thing  would  mean  degradation 
for  him,  it  might  mean  ruin  or  something  like  it  for  his 


144     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

career ;  besides  that,  it  must  mean  an  end  of  him  so  far 
as  she  was  concerned ;  it  would  set  an  impenetrable  in- 
surmountable barrier  between  them.  But  how  did  men 
approach  a  determination  like  that?  Surely  through 
sorrow,  gloom,  and  despair?  Ah,  but  there  was  some- 
times a  mad  desperate  gaiety  that  went  with  and  covered 
such  a  resolve.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  dis- 
tress that  showed  itself  in  her  eyes  and  parted  lips.  The 
change  in  her  caught  his  notice,  but  she  was  too  en- 
grossed with  her  fear  to  feel  embarrassment  or  false 
shame.  He  broke  off  what  he  was  saying  to  ask,  "  Why, 
what's  the  matter,  Alice?  Have  you  seen  a  ghost 
drinking  champagne?" 

"  They  say  you  're  being  very  foolish,"  she  answered 
in  a  low  steady  voice,  not  moving  her  eyes  from  his  face. 
"  Oh,  Ashley,  you  're  not  going  to  —  to  do  anything  mad  ? " 

A  pause  followed ;  presently  he  looked  at  her  and 
said,  with  seeming  surprise, 

"  Have  you  been  thinking  of  that  all  the  time?  ** 

"  No,  only  just  now." 

"  Why?     I  mean,  what  made  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  I  've  heard  things.  And  you  were  so  —  I  can't  say 
what  I  mean  !  When  people  are  very  gay  and  in  great 
spirits,  and  so  on,  don't  the  Scotch  say  they  're  fey,  and 
that  something  will  happen  to  them?" 

"  Most  nations  have  said  so,"  he  answered  lightly;  but 
a  slight  frown  came  on  his  brow,  as  he  added,  "  So  I  'm 
fey,  am  I?  "     His  laugh  was  a  little  bitter. 

"  I  've  no  right  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Every  right."  Whatever  was  in  his  face,  there  was 
neither  offence  nor  resentment.  "  Only  it 's  not  worth 
your  while  to  bother,"  he  went  on. 

"  You  know  I  think  it  is,"  she  answered  with  simple 
directness. 


THE   LICENCE   OF   VIRTUE      145 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully ;  for  a  moment  there  came 
to  him  such  a  mood  as  had  arrested  Bowdon's  steps  and 
availed  to  turn  his  feet  into  a  new  path.  But  Ashley's 
temper  was  not  the  same.  He  did  not  say  that  because 
this  path  was  the  best  it  should  be  his,  be  the  other  ever 
so  attractive  ;  he  admitted  with  a  sigh  that  the  other  was 
more  attractive,  nay,  was  irresistible,  and  held  on  his  way 
straight  to  it. 

"  You  're  one  of  the  best  people  in  the  world,  Alice," 
he  said.  And  he  added,  smiling,  "  Don't  believe  all  you 
hear.     Everybody  is  behaving  very  properly." 

"That's  not  the  Kensington  Palace  Gardens'  opinion." 

"I'm  afraid  I  'm  damned  for  ever  in  Sir  James'  eyes. 
Bertie  Jewett  reigns  in  my  stead." 

"  Yes,  that 's  it  exactly,"  she  agreed. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  petulantly.  "  So  be  it," 
said  he,  with  contemptuous  resignation.  "  Oh,  I  don't 
mean  that  I  think  you  look  at  it  like  that,"  he  added  an 
instant  later. 

She  wanted  to  speak  to  him  about  what  Irene  Kil- 
norton  had  told  her ;  her  desire  was  to  hear  from  his 
own  lips  that  he  did  not  mean  to  take  no  notice  of  Mr. 
Fenning.  The  subject  was  difficult  of  approach,  embar- 
rassed by  conventionalities  and  forbidden  by  her  con- 
sciousness of  a  personal  interest.  Before  she  could  find 
any  way  of  attacking  it  indirectly,  Ashley  began  to  talk 
again  fluently  and  merrily,  and  this  mood  lasted  until  she 
parted  from  him ;  she  had  no  further  chance  of  getting 
inside  his  guard,  and  went  home,  wondering  still  at  his 
high  spirits.  On  the  whole  she  had  drawn  comfort  from 
the  evening.  She  decided  to  reject  that  far-fetched  idea 
which  called  him  fey  because  he  was  merry,  and  to  repose 
on  two  solid  facts :  the  first  being  that  Ashley  did  not 
seem  heart-broken,  the  second  that  Mr.  Fenning  was 

IO 


146     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

coming  back  to  his  wife.  Among  any  people  whom  she 
could  measure  or  understand,  these  two  facts  would  have 
been  of  high  importance,  enough  in  themselves  to  deter- 
mine the  issue.  But  she  felt  about  Ashley  something 
of  the  same  ignorance  which  paralysed  all  her  efforts  to 
understand  Ora  Pinsent  or  to  forecast  the  actions  of  that 
gifted  but  bewildering  lady.  Certainly  she  would  have 
been  no  more  in  her  intellectual  depth  had  she  under- 
stood that  the  doings  which  were  setting  Babba  Flint's 
tongue  and  all  the  other  tongues  a-wagging  were  simply 
a  natural  outcome  and  almost  an  integral  part  of  a  great 
scheme  of  renunciation. 

She  could  not  be  blamed.  Ashley  Mead  himself  was 
hardly  less  at  a  loss  on  the  occasions  when  he  allowed 
himself  to  take  thought  concerning  the  matter.  But 
they  were  few ;  he  could  despair  of  the  situation,  and 
this  he  did  often  when  he  was  alone ;  he  could  accept 
it,  as  he  came  to  do  when  with  Ora ;  he  could  abandon 
himself  to  the  gaiety  of  the  moment,  as  in  the  mood  in 
which  Alice  had  found  him.  But  he  could  not  think  out 
the  course  of  events.  He  had  now  only  one  clear  pur- 
pose, to  make  things  as  easy  as  he  could  to  Ora,  to  obey 
her  commands,  to  fall  in  with  her  idea,  to  say  nothing 
which  would  disturb  the  artificial  tranquillity  which  she 
seemed  to  have  achieved.  The  letter  had  started  on  its 
way  to  Jack  Fenning,  the  renunciation  was  set  on  foot. 
The  few  days,  the  week  or  two,  that  still  remained  to 
them  seemed  to  make  little  difference.  To  scandal  he 
had  become  indifferent,  the  arrival  was  to  confute  it;  of 
pain  he  had  become  reckless  since  it  was  everywhere 
and  in  every  course;  the  opinions  of  his  friends  he 
gathered  merely  as  a  source  of  bitter  amusement ;  the 
good  fortune  on  which  he  had  allowed  himself  to  descant 
to  Alice  Muddock  had  a  very  ironical  flavour  about  it, 


THE   LICENCE   OF   VIRTUE      147 

since  it  chose  to  come  at  the  time  when  it  could  afford 
him  no  real  gratification,  when  he  was  engrossed  with 
another  interest,  when  he  had  room  only  for  one  sorrow 
and  only  for  one  triumph. 

At  supper  at  one  of  his  clubs  that  night  he  chanced 
to  find  Mr.  Sidney  Hazlewood,  who  was  a  member. 
Ashley  sat  down  beside  him  at  the  table,  exchanging 
a  careless  nod.  Mr.  Hazlewood  ate  his  supper  with 
steady  silent  persistence;  Ashley  made  rather  poor 
work  of  a  kidney ;  he  had  not  really  wanted  supper,  but 
preferred  it  to  going  home  to  bed. 

"  You  're  not  conversational,"  he  observed  at  last  to 
Hazlewood. 

"  Afraid  of  interrupting  your  reverie,"  Hazlewood  ex- 
plained with  a  grim  smile. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  sat  down  by  you  unless  I  'd  wanted 
to  talk.     How's  the  piece  going?" 

"  First-rate.  Thought  you  'd  have  known ;  you  're 
about  pretty  often." 

"  Yes,  but  I  generally  omit  to  enquire  at  the  box 
office,"  said  Ashley  with  an  air  of  apology. 

Mr.  Hazlewood  pushed  back  his  chair  and  threw 
down  his  napkin.  Then  he  lit  a  cigar  with  great  care 
and  took  several  whiffs.     At  last  he  spoke. 

'•  Mind  you,  Mead,"  said  he  with  a  cautious  air,  "  I 
don't  say  it 's  wrong  of  a  man  at  your  time  of  life  to  be 
a  fool,  and  I  don't  say  I  haven't  been  just  as  great  a  fool 
myself,  and  I  don't  say  that  you  haven't  a  better  excuse 
for  it  than  I  ever  had,  and  I  don't  say  that  half  the  men 
in  town  wouldn't  be  just  as  great  fools  as  you  if  they 
had  the  chance." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  're  not  going  to  say  any  of  those  ab- 
surd things,"  remarked  Ashley  with  gravity. 
"  But  all  I  say  is  that  you  are  a  fool." 


148     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"Is  that  quite  all?"  asked  Ashley. 

Hazlewood's  smile  broadened  a  little. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  he.  "  I  left  out  one  word.  An 
epithet." 

Ashley  surveyed  him  with  a  kindly  and  good-tem- 
pered smile. 

"  Well,  old  chap,  I  don't  see  how  you  could  say  any- 
thing else,"  he  observed. 

It  was  merely  one,  no  doubt  a  typical  one,  of  the 
opinions  that  had  for  the  present  to  be  disregarded.  In 
due  time  the  renunciation  would  confound  them  all.  Of 
this  Mr.  Hazlewood  and  his  like  foresaw  nothing ;  had 
it  been  shewn  to  them  in  a  vision  they  would  not  have 
believed  ;  if,  per  irnpossibile,  they  believed  —  Ashley 's 
lips  set  tight  and  stern  as  imagination's  ears  listened  to 
their  cackling  laughter.  From  of  old  virtue  in  man  is 
by  men  praised  with  a  sneer. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHAT   IS   TRUTH? 

THERE  was  one  aspect  of  the  renunciation  on 
which  Ora  had  the  tact  not  to  dwell  in  conversa- 
tion with  her  faithful  ally;  it  was,  however,  an  added 
source  of  comfort  to  herself,  and  proved  very  useful  at 
moments  when  her  resolve  needed  reinforcement.  As  an 
incidental  result  of  its  main  object,  as  a  kind  of  by- 
product of  beneficence,  the  renunciation  was  to  make 
Alice  Muddock  happy.  Ora  had  always  given  a  corner 
to  this  idea.  To  use  the  metaphor  which  insisted  on 
occurring  to  Ashley,  Alice  had  a  part  —  not  a  big  part, 
but  a  pretty  part ;  in  the  last  act  her  faithful  love  was  to 
be  rewarded.  She  would  not  (and  could  not  consist- 
ently with  the  plan  of  the  whole  piece)  look  to  receive 
a  passionate  attachment,  but  a  reasonable  and  sober 
affection,  such  as  her  modest  wisdom  must  incline  her 
to  accept,  would  in  the  end  be  hers ;  from  it  was  to 
spring,  not  rapturous  joy,  but  a  temperate  happiness, 
and  a  permanent  union  with  Ashley  Mead.  Ashley 
was  to  be  led  to  regard  this  as  the  best  solution,  to  fall 
in  with  it  at  first  in  a  kind  of  resignation,  and  later  on 
to  come  to  see  that  it  had  been  the  best  thing  under  the 
circumstances  of  the  case.  Ora  could  bring  him  to 
perceive  this  (though  perhaps  nobody  else  could) ;  to 
her  Alice  would  owe  the  temperate  happiness,  and 
Ashley  a  settlement  in  life  from  all  points  of  view  most 
advantageous.  Ora  herself  continued  to  have  a  good 
deal  to  do  with  this  hypothetical  wedded  life ;   she  pic- 


150    A  SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

hired  herself  making  appearances  in  it  from  time  to 
time,  assuaging  difficulties,  removing  misunderstand- 
ings, perhaps  renewing  to  Ashley  her  proof  of  its  de- 
sirability, and  shewing  him  once  again  that,  sweet  as 
her  life  with  him  and  his  with  her  must  have  proved, 
yet  the  renunciation  had  been  and  remained  true  wis- 
dom, as  well  as  the  only  right  course.  These  postnup- 
tial scenes  with  Ashley  were  very  attractive  to  Ora  in 
her  moods  of  gentle  melancholy.  The  picture  of  the 
married  life  in  the  considerable  intervals  during  which 
she  made  no  appearance  in  it,  but  was  somewhere  with 
Mr.  Fenning,  was  left  vague  and  undefined. 

Ora  caught  at  a  visit  from  Lord  Bowdon  as  the  first 
fruit  of  the  renunciation  and  a  promise  of  all  that  was 
to  follow  after.  He  had  not  come  near  her  since  the 
day  when  she  dismissed  him  with  her  " Don't;  "  within 
a  week  from  the  announcement  of  Mr.  Fenning's  ap- 
proaching return  he  paid  a  call  on  her.  The  inference 
was  easy,  and  to  a  large  extent  it  was  correct.  Ora 
could  not  resist  drawing  her  visitor  and  Irene  Kilnorton 
into  the  play;  quite  small  parts  were  theirs,  but  they 
furnished  the  stage  and  heightened  the  general  impres- 
sion. Their  married  life  also  was  to  be  tinged  and 
coloured  by  the  past;  they  also  were  to  owe  something 
to  the  renunciation ;  it  had  restored  to  them  complete 
tranquillity,  removed  from  him  a  wayward  impulse, 
from  her  a  jealous  pang,  and  set  them  both  on  the 
straight  path  of  unclouded  happiness.  She  could  not 
say  any  of  this  to  Bowdon,  but  she  hinted  it  to  Ashley, 
who  laughed,  and  when  Bowdon  came  she  hinted  to 
him  her  hopes  concerning  Alice  Muddock.  He  laughed 
like  Ashley,  but  with  a  very  doubtful  expression  in  his 
eyes.  By  now  the  world  was  talking  rather  loudly 
about   Miss   Pinsent  and   Mr.   Ashley   Mead.     Bowdon 


WHAT    IS   TRUTH?  151 

was  inclined  to  think  that  his  hostess  was  "  humbug- 
ging"  him  in  a  somewhat  transparent  fashion.  He  did 
not  resent  it;  he  found,  with  an  appreciable  recrudes- 
cence of  alarm,  that  he  minded  very  little  what  she 
talked  about  so  that  she  sat  there  and  talked  to  him. 
His  inward  "  Thank  God,  the  fellow  's  coming  !  "  was  a 
triumphant  vindication  of  part,  at  least,  of  Ora's  faith 
in  the  renunciation.  He  pulled  his  moustache  thought- 
fully as  he  observed, 

"  I  suppose  a  match  between  Miss  Muddock  and 
Ashley  was  always  an  idea.  Irene  says  old  Sir  James 
has  been  set  on  it  for  years." 

Sir  James  made  a  quiet  and  unobtrusive  entry  on  the 
stage,  bringing  (by  a  legitimate  stretch  of  fancy)  his 
sympathetic  wife  with  him ;  even  Ora  could  not  make 
anything  of  Bob  for  scenic  purposes. 

"  But  Ashley  's  not  a  fellow  to  be  forced  into  what  he 
doesn't  care  about." 

"  Not  forced,  no,"  murmured  Ora.  The  method  was 
not  so  crude  as  that. 

"  And  we  Ve  no  right  to  take  the  lady's  feelings  for 
granted." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Ora  earnestly. 

"  There  are  certainly  no  signs  of  anything  of  the  sort 
at  present." 

"  At  present !  No  !  "  she  cried  almost  indignantly. 
Then  she  detected  a  hint  of  amusement  in  Bowdon's 
eye  and  began  to  laugh.  In  spite  of  all  the  sorrow  and 
pain  involved  in  the  renunciation,  its  spice  of  secrecy 
and  mystification  sometimes  extorted  a  smile  from  her; 
people  were  so  hopelessly  puzzled  about  it,  so  very  far 
from  guessing  the  truth,  and  so  wide  of  the  mark  in 
their  conjectures.  Bowdon  evidently  shared  the  gen- 
eral bewilderment  and  felt  a  difficulty  in  talking  to  her 


152     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

about  Ashley  Mead.     She  presented  him  with  another 
topic. 

"  The  news  about  you  and  Irene  made  me  so  happy," 
she  said.     "  Irene's  such  a  dear." 

"  You  're  very  kind,"  he  muttered.  This  topic  was 
not  much  less  awkward  than  the  other,  and  Ora's  en- 
thusiasm had  imparted  to  her  manner  the  intense  cordi- 
ality and  sympathy  which  made  Irene  say  that  she 
conveyed  the  idea  of  expecting  to  be  kissed ;  he  pre- 
ferred that  she  should  not  suggest  that  idea  to  him. 

"It's  such  a  lovely  arrangement  in  everyway,"  she 
pursued.  "  Isn't  it?"  Her  eyes  were  raised  to  his; 
she  had  meant  to  be  quite  serious,  but  her  look  be- 
trayed the  sense  of  fun  with  which  she  offered  her  con- 
gratulations. She  could  not  behave  quite  as  though 
nothing  had  ever  passed  between  them ;  she  was  willing 
to  minimise  but  declined  to  annihilate  a  certain  memory 
common  to  them.  "  I  'm  going  to  come  and  see  you 
very  often  when  you  're  married,"  she  went  on.  Bow- 
don  was  willing  enough  to  meet  her  subtly  hinted 
mockery. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  be  very  discreet,"  he  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  be  discreet.  There  isn't  much  to  be  dis- 
creet about,  is  there?  " 

"That's  not  my  fault,"  he  allowed  himself  to  remark 
as  he  rose  to  take  leave. 

"  Oh,  you  're  not  going  yet?  "  she  cried.  "  If  you  do 
I  shall  think  it  was  simply  a  duty  call.  And  it 's  so 
long  since  I've  seen  you."  Her  innate  desire  —  it  was 
almost  an  instinct  —  to  have  every  man  leave  her  with 
as  much  difficulty  as  possible  imparted  a  pathetic  ear- 
nestness to  her  tone.  "  Perhaps  I  shan't  have  many 
more  chances  of  seeing  you." 


WHAT    IS    TRUTH?  153 

"  Many  —  after  I  'm  married,"  he  reminded  her, 
smiling. 

"No,  I'm  serious  now,"  she  declared.     "You  —  you 
know  what's  going  to  happen,  Lord  Bowdon?  " 
"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  Of  course  when  Jack  comes  home  I  shan't  be  so 
free.  Besides  —  !  "  She  did  not  end  the  sentence ;  the 
suppressed  words  would  obviously  have  raised  the 
question  of  Jack  Fenning's  acceptability  to  her  friends. 
For  his  part  Bowdon  immediately  became  certain  that 
Jack  was  a  ruffian.  He  held  out  his  hand,  ostensibly 
in  farewell ;  Ora  took  it  and  pressed  it  hard,  her  eyes 
the  while  demanding  much  sympathy.  Bowdon  found 
himself  giving  her  intense  sympathy ;  he  had  not  before 
realised  what  this  thing  meant  to  her,  he  had  been  too 
much  occupied  with  what  it  meant  to  him.  He  could 
not  openly  condole  with  her  on  her  husband's  return, 
but  he  came  very  near  that  point  in  his  good-bye. 

"Your  friends  will  always  want  to  see  you,  and  — 
and  be  eager  to  do  anything  in  the  world  they  can  for 
you,"  he  said.  The  pressure  of  her  hand  thanked  him, 
and  then  he  departed.  As  he  walked  out  of  the  hall- 
door,  he  put  his  hat  very  firmly  on  his  head  and  drew  a 
long  breath.  He  was  conscious  of  having  escaped  a 
danger ;  and  he  could  not  deny,  in  spite  of  poor  Ora's 
hard  fortune,  that  the  return  of  Mr.  Fenning  was  a 
good  thing. 

Good  or  bad,  the  coming  was  near  now.  The  brief 
and  business-like  letter  had  reached  Bridgeport,  Con- 
necticut, and  had  elicited  a  reply  by  cable.  In  eight 
days  Mr.  Fenning  might  be  expected  at  Southampton. 
As  the  event  approached,  it  seemed  to  become  less 
and  less  real  to  Ashley;  he  found  himself  wondering 
whether  a  man  who  is  to  be  hanged  on  Monday  has 


154     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

more  than  the  barest  intellectual  belief  in  the  fact, 
whether  it  really  sinks  into  his  consciousness  until  the 
rope  is  absolutely  round  his  neck.  Accidents  by  sea 
and  land  suggested  themselves  to  an  irresponsible  and 
non-indictable  fancy;  or  Jack  had  merely  meant  to 
extort  a  gift  of  money ;  or  his  unstable  purpose  would 
change.  The  world  that  held  himself  and  Ora  seemed 
incapable  of  opening  to  receive  Jack  Fenning;  some- 
thing would  happen.  Nothing  did  happen  except  that 
the  last  days  went  on  accomplishing  themselves  in  their 
unmoved  way,  and  when  Ashley  went  to  bed  each  night 
Jack  Fenning  was  twenty-four  hours  nearer.  Ora's  con- 
duct increased  the  sense  of  unreality.  She  wanted  him 
always  with  her ;  she  dissipated  his  scruples  with  radiant 
raillery  or  drowned  them  in  threatened  tears.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  was  full  of  Jack  Fenning  now;  often 
talking  about  him,  oftener  still  about  how  she  would 
receive  him.  She  sketched  his  career  for  Ashley's  in- 
formation ;  the  son  of  a  poor  clergyman,  he  had  obtained 
a  berth  in  a  shipowner's  office  at  Hamburg;  he  had  lost 
it  and  come  home ;  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
a  Jewish  gentleman  and  been  his  clerk  on  the  Stock 
Exchange  ;  he  had  written  a  play  and  induced  the 
Jewish  gentleman  to  furnish  money  for  its  production ; 
disaster  followed;  Jack  became  an  auctioneer's  clerk; 
the  Jewish  gentleman,  with  commendable  forgivingness, 
had  put  him  in  the  way  of  a  successful  gold  mine  (that 
is,  a  successfully  floated  gold  mine) ;  he  had  made  two 
thousand  pounds.  "  Then  he  married  me,"  Ora  inter- 
polated into  her  summary  narrative.  The  money  was 
soon  spent.  Then  came  darker  times,  debts,  queer  ex- 
pedients for  avoiding,  and  queerer  for  contriving,  pay- 
ment, and  at  last  a  conviction  that  the  air  of  America 
would  suit  him   better  for  a  time.     The  picture  of  a 


WHAT    IS    TRUTH?  155 

worthless,  weak,  idle,  plausible  rascal  emerged  tolerably 
complete  from  these  scattered  touches.  One  thing  she 
added,  new  to  her  hearer  and  in  a  way  unwelcome : 
Jack  was  —  had  been,  she  put  it,  still  treating  him  as 
belonging  to  the  past  —  extremely  handsome.  "  Hand- 
somer than  you,  much,"  she  said,  laughing,  with  her  face 
very  near  his  over  his  shoulder  as  he  sat  moodily  by 
the  window.  He  did  not  look  round  at  her,  until,  by 
accident  as  it  seemed  and  just  possibly  was,  a  curl  of 
her  dark  hair  touched  his  cheek  ;  then  he  forgave  her 
the  handsomeness  of  Jack  Fenning. 

Irene  Kilnorton  had  been  with  her  that  day  and  had 
told  her  that,  since  she  chose  to  have  the  man  back,  she 
must  treat  him  properly  and  look  as  though  she  were 
glad  to  see  him ;  that  she  must,  in  fact,  give  a  fair  trial 
to  the  experiment  which  she  had  decided  to  allow. 
Being  thoroughly  in  harmony  with  the  theory  of  renun- 
ciation, this  advice  made  a  great  impression  on  Ora. 
She  professed  her  joy  that  Jack  was  to  arrive  on  a 
Sunday,  because  she  would  thus  be  free  from  the  the- 
atre and  able  to  meet  him  at  Southampton.  To  meet 
him  at  Southampton  was  an  admirable  way  of  treating 
him  properly  and  of  giving  a  fair  trial  to  the  experi- 
ment. Ashley's  raised  brows  hinted  that  this  excess  of 
welcome  was  hardly  due  to  the  Prodigal.  Ora  insisted 
on  it.  He  was  past  surprise  by  now,  or  he  would  have 
wondered  when  she  went  on : 

"But  of  course  I  can't  go  alone;  I  hate  travelling 
alone ;  and  I  don't  know  anything  about  how  the  boats 
come  in  or  anything.  You  must  come  with  me,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  to  go  with  you,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  you  '11  go  and  find  him  and  bring  him  to 
me.     Somebody '11  tell  you  which  is  him." 


156     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  And  then  I  'm  to  leave  you  with  him  and  come  back 
to  town  alone  ?  " 

Ora's  smile  suddenly  vanished.  "  Don't,  dear,"  she 
said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm.  That  was  her  way 
always  when  he  touched  on  the  black  side  of  the  situa- 
tion. Her  plans  and  pictures  still  stopped  short  with 
the  arrival  of  the  boat.  "It'll  be  our  last  time  quite 
alone  and  uninterrupted  together,"  she  reminded  him, 
as  though  he  could  forget  the  object  of  the  expedition 
and  be  happy  in  the  thought  that  it  meant  two  hours 
with  her. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  travel  back  with  us," 
she  added  a  moment  later.     "  Oh,  of  course  you  will !  " 

He  chafed  at  her  use  of  the  word  "  us,"  for  now  it 
meant  herself  and  Jack,  and  had  the  true  matrimonial 
ring,  asserting  for  Mr.  Fenning  a  position  which  the  law 
only,  and  not  Ashley's  habit  of  thought,  accorded  him. 
But  he  would  have  to  accustom  himself  to  this  "  us  "  and 
all  that  it  conveyed.  He  forced  himself  to  smile  as  he 
observed,  "  Perhaps  Fenning  '11  want  to  smoke  !  " 

Ora  laughed  merrily  and  said  that  she  hoped  he 
would.  Even  to  Ashley  it  seemed  odd  that  the  notion 
appeared  to  her  rather  as  a  happy  possibility  than  as  a 
reductio  ad  absurdum  of  her  attitude  ;  she  really  thought 
it  conceivable  that  Jack  might  go  and  smoke,  while  she 
and  Ashley  had  another  "last  time  quite  alone  together." 
But  she  had  such  an  extraordinary  power  of  commend- 
ing absurdities  to  serious  consideration  that  he  caught 
himself  rehearsing  the  best  terms  in  which  to  make  the 
suggestion  to  Mr.  Fenning. 

In  those  days  he  had  it  always  in  mind  to  tell  her  a 
thing  on  which  he  was  resolutely  determined,  which 
even  she  could  not  make  him  falter  about.  With  the 
entry  of  Jack  Fenning  must  come  his  own  exit.     He 


WHAT   IS   TRUTH?  157 

did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  his  grounds  for  this  resolve, 
or  deck  in  any  gorgeous  colours  of  high  principle  what 
was  at  best  no  more  than  a  dictate  of  self-respect  and 
more  probably  in  the  main  an  instinct  of  pride.  But 
from  the  hour  of  the  arrival  of  the  boat  he  meant  to  be 
no  more  an  intimate  friend  of  hers.  Had  his  business 
engagements  allowed  he  would  have  arranged  to  leave 
London.  Absence  from  town  was  impossible  to  him 
without  a  loss  which  he  could  not  encounter,  but  London 
is  a  large  place,  where  people  need  not  be  met  unless 
they  are  sought.  He  would  deliver  her  over  to  her 
husband  and  go  his  way.  But  he  did  not  tell  her;  she 
would  either  be  very  woeful,  and  that  calamity  he  could 
not  face,  or  she  would  give  a  thoughtless  assent  and  go 
on  making  her  pictures  just  the  same.  The  resolution 
abode  in  his  own  heart  as  the  one  fixed  point,  as  the 
one  definite  end  to  all  this  strange  period  of  provisional 
indiscretion  and  unreal  imaginings.  When  he  thought 
of  it,  he  rose  to  the  wish  that  Jack  might  be  still  hand- 
some and  might  prove  more  reputable  and  kinder  than 
he  had  been  in  the  old  days.  Ora  herself  was  beginning 
to  have  hopes  of  Jack,  or  hopes  of  what  she  might  make 
of  him  by  her  zealous  care  and  dutiful  fidelity;  Ashley 
encouraged  these  hopes  and  they  throve  under  his 
watering.  In  the  course  of  the  last  week  there  was 
added  to  the  great  idea  of  a  renunciation  of  Ashley  the 
hardly  less  seductive  and  fascinating  project  of  a  re- 
formation of  Jack  Fenning.  This  conception  broadened 
and  enriched  the  plot  of  the  fanciful  drama,  added  a 
fine  scene  or  two,  and  supplied  a  new  motive  for  the 
heroine.  In  the  end  Ora  had  great  hopes  of  Jack  in 
the  future  and  a  very  much  more  charitable  opinion  of 
him  in  the  past. 

She  paid  her  promised  visit  to  Alice  Muddock  on  the 


158     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Wednesday,  Jack  Fenning  being  due  on  the  following 
Sunday.  In  these  last  days  Ora  devoted  herself  entirely 
to  people  who  were,  in  some  way  or  other,  within  the 
four  corners  of  the  scheme  of  renunciation.  Alice  was 
amazed  to  find  in  her  a  feeling  about  her  husband's 
arrival  hardly  distinguishable  from  pleasure ;  at  least 
she  was  sure  that  a  cable  message  that  he  was  not  com- 
ing would  have  inflicted  a  serious  disappointment  on 
her  visitor.  But  at  the  same  time  this  strange  creature 
was  obviously,  openly —  a  few  weeks  ago  Alice  would  not 
have  hesitated  to  say  shamelessly  —  in  love  with  Ashley 
Mead.  The  two  men's  names  alternated  on  her  lips;  it 
seemed  moral  polyandry  or  little  better.  Alice's  for- 
mulas were  indeed  at  fault.  And  through  it  all  ran  the 
implied  assertion  that  Alice  was  interested  in  the  affair 
for  a  stronger  reason  than  the  friendship  which  she  was 
so  good  as  to  offer  to  Ora.  Here  again,  according  to 
Ora's  method,  Irene  Kilnorton's  share  in  the  scheme 
was  hinted  at,  while  Alice  was  left  to  infer  her  own.  She 
did  so  readily  enough,  having  drawn  the  inference  on 
her  own  account  beforehand,  but  her  wonder  at  finding 
it  in  Ora's  mind  was  not  diminished.  To  be  passion- 
ately in  love  with  a  man  and  to  give  him  up  was  con- 
ceivable ;  any  heights  of  self-sacrifice  were  within  the 
purview  of  Alice's  mind.  To  find  a  luxury  in  giving 
him  up  was  beyond  her.  To  return  to  a  husband  from 
a  sense  of  duty  would  have  been  to  Alice  almost  a 
matter  of  course,  however  bad  the  man  might  be ;  to 
set  to  work  to  make  out  that  the  man  was  not  bad 
clashed  directly  with  the  honest  perspicacity  of  her 
intellect.  And,  to  crown  all,  in  the  interval,  as  a  prep- 
aration for  resuming  the  path  of  duty,  to  set  all  the 
town  talking  scandal  and  greet  the  scandal  with  a  defi- 
ance  terribly   near   to    enjoyment !      Alice,   utterly   at 


WHAT    IS   TRUTH?  159 

fault,  grew  impatient ;   her  hard-won  toleration  was  hard 
tried. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  understand  all  I  feel,"  said  Ora,  tak- 
ing her  friend's  hand  between  hers. 

"  Indeed  I  don't,"  replied  Alice  bluntly. 

"  Anyhow  you  're  sorry  for  me?  "  Ora  pleaded.  Here 
Alice  could  give  the  desired  assurance.  Ora  was  con- 
tent ;  sympathy  was  what  she  wanted ;  whether  it  came 
from  brain  or  heart  was  of  small  moment. 

By  a  coincidence,  which  at  first  sight  looked  perverse, 
Bob  brought  Babba  Flint  into  Alice's  room  at  tea-time. 
Alice  did  not  like  Babba,  and  feared  that  his  coming 
would  interrupt  the  revelation  of  herself  which  Ora  in 
innocent  unconsciousness  was  employed  in  giving.  The 
result  proved  quite  different.  Babba  had  declared  to 
Irene  Kilnorton  that  the  coming  of  Mr.  Fenning  was  a 
figment  concocted  from  caprice  or  perhaps  with  an  in- 
direct motive ;  he  advanced  the  same  view  to  Ora  herself 
with  unabashed  impudence,  yet  with  a  seriousness  which 
forbade  the  opinion  that  he  merely  jested. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  tell  whether  you  expect  him,  Miss 
Pinsent.  All  I  know  is  he  won't  come."  Babba's  eye- 
glass fell  from  his  eye  in  its  most  conclusive  manner. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will,"  cried  Ora  triumphantly.  "  I  know 
all  about  it;  the  boat,  and  the  time,  and  everything  else." 

"  You  '11  see,  he  won't  be  there,"  Babba  persisted.  "  I 
wonder  if  you  '11  be  awfully  surprised  !  " 

"Why  should  I  say  he's  coming  if  he  isn't?"  asked 
Ora,  but  rather  with  amusement  than  indignation. 

"  Oh,  for  an  advertisement,  or  just  because  it  came 
into  your  head,  or  as  the  homage  liberty  pays  to  matri- 
mony; any  reason  you  like,  you  know." 

Their  debate  filled  Alice  with  wonder.  It  was  strange 
that  Ora  should  lend  an  ear  to  Babba's  suggestions,  that 


160    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

she  should  not  at  once  silence  him  ;  yet  she  listened  with 
apparent  interest,  although,  of  course,  she  repudiated 
the  motives  imputed  to  her  and  declared  that  in  all 
sincerity  she  expected  her  husband.  Babba  fell  back 
on  blank  assertion.  "  He  won't  come,  you  '11  see,"  he 
repeated. 

The  extreme  impertinence  of  the  little  man  moved 
Alice  to  resentment ;  in  whatever  sense  his  remarks  were 
taken,  they  must  bear  an  offensive  meaning.  But  Ora 
did  not  seem  resentful ;  strangely  enough  she  began  to 
shew  signs  of  disturbance,  she  brought  forward  serious 
arguments  to  prove  that  Jack  Fenning  would  come,  and 
appealed  to  Babba  to  alter  his  opinion  with  pathetic 
eyes.     Babba  was  inexorable. 

"  Really  you  must  allow  Miss  Pinsent  to  know,"  Alice 
expostulated. 

"  It 's  a  matter  of  experience,"  Babba  observed. 
"  They  're  always  going  to  turn  up,  but  they  never  do." 

"Why  do  you  say  he  won't  come?"  asked  Ora 
anxiously. 

"  I  've  told  you  the  reason.  They  never  do,"  repeated 
Babba  obstinately.  Bob  Muddock  burst  into  a  laugh, 
Alice  frowned  severely,  Ora's  brows  were  knit  in  puzzled 
wrinkles.  This  suggestion  of  an  impediment  in  the  way 
of  the  renunciation  and  reformation  was  quite  new  to  her ; 
but  she  did  not  appear  to  be  struck  at  all  by  what  seemed 
to  Alice  the  indecency  of  discussing  it. 

"  Suppose  he  didn't !  "  Ora  murmured  audibly ;  a  smile 
came  slowly  to  her  lips  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  full 
of  half-imaged  possibilities.  Babba  made  no  comment; 
his  smile  was  enough  for  all  who  knew  the  facts  of  the 
present  situation ;  for  example,  for  all  who  knew  in  what 
company  Miss  Pinsent  drove  to  the  theatre.  "  If  he 
didn't  — "  Ora  began.      Babba's   mocking  eye  was  on 


WHAT   IS    TRUTH?  161 

her.  She  began  to  laugh.  "  I  know  what  you  're  think- 
ing !  "  she  cried  with  a  menacing  wave  of  her  hand. 

The  scene  had  become  distasteful,  almost  unendurable, 
to  Alice  Muddock.  Here  was  the  side  of  Ora  that  she 
detested;  it  raised  all  the  old  prejudices  in  her  and 
argued  that  they  were  well  justified.  She  also  knew 
what  Babba  Flint's  look  meant,  and  wanted  to  turn 
him  out  of  the  room  for  it.  Such  punishment  would 
be  only  proper;  it  would  also  have  propitiated  in  some 
degree  the  jealousy  which  made  her  unwilling  to  admit 
that  possibly  Mr.  Fenning  might  not  come. 

The  young  men  went;  she  and  Ora  were  alone  to- 
gether ;  Alice's  feeling  of  hostility  persisted  and  became 
manifest  to  Ora's  quick  perception.  In  an  instant  she 
implored  pity  and  forgiveness  by  abandoning  herself  to 
condemnation. 

"  Now  you  see  what  I  am  !  And  you  might  have 
been  my  friend !  "  she  murmured.  "  But  you  don't 
know  how  unhappy  I  am." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  're  unhappy  at  all,"  said  Alice 
with  blunt  barbarity. 

"  Not  unhappy  !  "  exclaimed  Ora  in  dismay.  If  she 
were  not  unhappy,  the  whole  structure  tumbled. 

"  You  will  be,  though,"  Alice  pursued  relentlessly. 
"  You  '11  be  very  unhappy  when  Mr.  Fenning  comes, 
and  I  think  you  'd  be  unhappy  if  by  any  chance  he 
didn't  come."  She  paused  and  looked  at  her  visitor. 
"  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  like  you,"  she  said  thought- 
fully. 

Ora  sat  quiet;  there  was  a  scared  look  on  her  face; 
she  turned  her  eyes  up  to  Alice  who  sat  on  a  higher 
chair. 

"Why  do  you  say  that  sort  of  thing  to  me?"  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice. 


162     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  It 's  quite  true.  I  shouldn't.  And  all  the  rest  is 
true  too."  Her  voice  grew  harder  and  harder  in  oppo- 
sition to  an  inner  pleading  for  mercy.  This  woman 
should  not  wheedle  her  into  lies;  she  would  tell  the 
truth  for  once,  although  Ora  did  sit  there  —  looking 
like  a  child  condemned  to  rigorous  punishment. 

"  It 's  not  decent  the  way  you  talk  about  it,  and  let 
people  talk  about  it,"  she  broke  out  in  a  burst  of 
indignation.  "Have  you  no  self-respect?  Don't  you 
know  how  people  talk  about  you?  Oh,  I  wouldn't  be 
famous  at  the  price  of  that !  " 

Ora  did  not  cry;  the  hurt  was  beyond  tears;  she 
grew  white,  her  eyes  were  wide  and  her  lips  parted; 
she  watched  Alice  as  a  dog  seems  to  watch  for  the 
next  fall  of  the  whip. 

"  You  say  you  're  unhappy.  Lots  of  us  are  unhappy, 
but  we  don't  tell  all  the  world  about  it.  And  we  don't 
hug  our  unhappiness  either  and  make  a  play  out  of  it." 
What  Ashley  had  reluctantly  and  secretly  thought  came 
in  stern  and  cutting  plainness  from  Alice's  lips ;  but 
Ashley  would  have  died  sooner  than  breathe  a  word 
of  it  to  Ora. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Alice,  "  you  think  I  'm  angry  be- 
cause — because  of  something  that  concerns  myself.  I  'm 
not,  I  'm  just  telling  you  the  truth."  She  was  sure  that 
it  was  the  truth,  however  it  might  be  inspired,  however 
it  was  that  she  had  come  to  utter  it.  "  What  does  that 
man  say  about  you  when  you  aren't  there?  He  says 
almost  everything  to  your  face  !  And  you  laugh  !  What 
does  he  say  after  dinner,  what  does  he  say  at  his  club?  " 

"  Please  let  me  go  home,"  said  Ora.  "  Please  let  me 
go  home."  She  seemed  almost  to  stagger  as  she  rose. 
"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said,  "  Or  —  or  I  shan't  have 
time  for  dinner." 


WHAT   IS   TRUTH?  163 

"  I  suppose  you  like  —  "  Alice  began,  but  she  stopped 
herself.  She  had  said  enough;  the  face  before  her 
seemed  older,  thinner,  drawn  into  lines  that  impaired 
its  beauty,  as  it  were  scarred  with  a  new  knowledge; 
the  eyes  that  met  hers  were  terrified.  "It's  all  true," 
she  said  to  herself  again.  "  Quite  true.  Only  nobody 
has  ever  told  her  the  truth." 

She  rang  the  bell,  but  did  not  go  with  Ora  to  the 
door;  neither  of  them  thought  of  shaking  hands;  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  Ora  would  have  offered  one 
of  her  ready  kisses.  Now  she  went  quietly  and  silently 
to  the  door  and  opened  it  with  timid  noiselessness.  As 
she  went  out,  she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder;  a 
movement  from  Alice,  the  holding  out  of  a  hand,  would 
have  brought  her  back  in  a  flood  of  tears  and  a  burst  of 
pitiful  protests  at  once  against  herself  and  against  the 
accusations  laid  to  her  charge.  No  sign  came;  Alice 
stood  stern  and  immovable. 

"  I  'm  late  as  it  is.     Good-bye,"  whispered  Ora. 

She  went  out.  Alice  stood  still  where  she  was  for  a 
moment  before  she  flung  herself  into  a  chair,  exclaiming 
again,  and  this  time  aloud, 

"  It 's  true,  it 's  true ;  every  word  of  it 's  the  truth  !  " 
She  was  very  anxious  to  convince  herself  that  every 
word  of  it  was  true. 


CHAPTER   XII 

AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS 

THE  next  few  days  were  critical  for  the  renunciation, 
and  consequently  for  the  reformation  which  was 
to  accompany  it.  In  the  first  place,  Jack  Fenning  was  now 
very  near ;  secondly,  Ashley  Mead's  behaviour  was  so 
perfect  as  to  suggest  almost  irresistibly  an  alternative 
course ;  finally,  thanks  to  Alice  Muddock's  outspoken- 
ness, Ora  was  inclined  to  call  virtue  thankless  and  to 
decide  that  one  whom  all  the  world  held  wicked  might 
just  as  well  for  all  the  world  be  wicked.  She  had  ap- 
pealed from  Alice  to  Irene  Kilnorton,  hinting  at  the 
cruelty  to  which  she  had  been  subjected.  She  found 
no  comfort ;  there  was  an  ominous  tightening  of  Irene's 
lips.  Ora  flew  home  and  threw  herself  —  the  meta- 
phorical just  avoids  passing  into  the  literal —  on  Ash- 
ley's bosom.  There  were  tears  and  protests  against 
universal  injustice;  she  cried  to  him,  "Take  me  away 
from  all  of  them !  "  What  answer  did  she  expect  or 
desire?  He  could  not  tell.  Mr.  Fenning  was  due  on 
Sunday,  and  Ora's  piece  was  running  still.  Yet  at  the 
moment  it  seemed  as  though  she  would  fly  into  space 
with  him  and  a  hand-bag,  leaving  renunciations,  reforma- 
tions, virtues,  careers,  and  livelihoods  to  look  after 
themselves,  surrendering  herself  to  the  rare  sweetness 
of  unhindered  impulse.  For  himself,  he  was  ready; 
he  had  come  to  that  state   of  mind  in  regard  to  her. 


AT   CLOSE    QUARTERS  165 

His  ordinary  outlook  on  life  was  blocked  by  her  image, 
his  plan  of  existence,  with  all  its  lines  of  reason,  of 
hope,  of  ambition,  blurred  by  the  touch  of  her  finger. 
Only  very  far  behind,  somewhere  remote  in  the  back- 
ground, lay  the  haunting  conviction  that  these  last,  and 
not  his  present  madness,  would  prove  in  the  end  the 
abiding  reality.  What  made  him  refuse,  or  rather  evade, 
the  embracing  of  her  request  was  that  same  helplessness 
in  her  which  had  restrained  his  kisses  in  the  inn  parlour. 
If  she  turned  on  him  later,  crying,  "  You  could  do  what 
you  liked  with  me,  why  did  you  do  this  with  me  ?  " 
what  would  he  have  to  answer?  "  We  '11  settle  it  to- 
morrow; you  must  start  for  the  theatre  now,"  he  said. 
"  So  I  must.     Am  I  awfully  late?  "  cried  Ora. 

That  evening  he  dined  with  Bob  Muddock.  Bertie 
Jewett  and  Babba  Flint  were  his  fellow-guests.  All 
three  seemed  to  regard  him  with  interest  —  Bob's,  ad- 
miring; Bertie's,  scornful ;  Babba's,  amused.  Bob  envied 
the  achievement  of  such  a  conquest;  Bertie  despised 
the  man  who  wasted  time  on  it ;  Babba  was  sympathetic 
and  hinted  confidential  surprise  that  anybody  made  any 
bones  about  it.  But  they  none  of  them  doubted  it;  and 
of  the  renunciation  none  knew  or  took  account.  A 
course  of  action  which  fails  to  suggest  itself  to  anybody 
incurs  the  suspicion  of  being  mad,  or  at  least  wrong- 
headed  and  quixotic.  Ashley  told  himself  that  his 
conduct  was  all  these  things,  and  had  no  countervailing 
grace  of  virtue.  It  was  no  virtue  to  fear  a  reproach  in 
Ora's  eyes ;  it  was  the  merest  cowardice ;  yet  that  fear 
was  all  that  held  him  back. 

After  dinner  Bob  drew  him  to  a  sofa  apart  from  their 
companions  and  began  to  discuss  the  dramatic  profes- 
sion. Ashley  suffered  patiently,  but  his  endurance 
changed  to  amusement  when  Bob  passed  to  the  neigh- 


166     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

bouring  art  of  music,  found  in  it  a  marked  superiority, 
and  observed  that  he  had  been  talking  over  the  subject 
with  Minna  Soames. 

"  I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  object  to  singing  at 
concerts,"  said  Bob,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  for  incon- 
ceivable narrow-mindedness,  "  not  even  the  governor." 

"Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter?"  asked  Ashley, 
laughing. 

"  I  Ve  got  my  eye  on  her,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
answered  Bob.     "She's  ripping,  isn't  she?" 

The  vague  and  violent  charms  which  the  epithet 
seemed  to  imply  were  not  Minna's.  Ashley  replied  that 
she  was  undoubtedly  pretty  and  charming.  Bob  eyed 
him  with  a  questioning  air ;  it  was  as  though  a  man  who 
had  been  on  a  merry-go-round  were  consulted  by  one 
who  thought  of  venturing  on  the  trip. 

"  People  talk  a  great  deal  of  rot,"  Bob  reflected.  "  A 
girl  isn't  degraded,  or  unsexed,  or  anything  of  that  sort, 
just  because  she  sings  for  her  living." 

"  Surely  not,"  smiled  Ashley. 

The  prejudices  were  crying  out  in  pain  as  Bob's  new- 
born idea  crushed  and  mangled  them. 

"  But  the  governor  's  so  against  all  that  sort  of  thing," 
Bob  complained.  Then  he  looked  up  at  his  friend. 
"  That 's  mostly  your  fault,"  he  added,  with  an  awkward 
laugh. 

"  My  dear  Bob,  the  cases  are  not  parallel." 

"  Well,  Miss  Soames  hasn't  got  a  husband,  of 
course." 

There  was  no  use  in  being  angry,  or  even  in  repre- 
senting that  the  remark  which  had  seemed  so  obvious 
to  Bob  was  a  considerable  liberty. 

"  Imagine  her  with  a  thousand  husbands,  and  still  the 
cases  couldn't  be  parallel." 


AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS  167 

"  She  's  not  on  the  stage." 

"  And  if  she  were,  the  distinctions  run  by  people,  not 
by  professions,"  said  Ashley. 

"  Well,  I  'm  thinking  of  it,"  Bob  announced.  And  he 
added,  with  a  ludicrous  air  of  desiring  the  suspicion, 
while  he  repudiated  the  fact,  of  dishonourable  intentions, 
"  All  on  the  square,  of  course." 

"  Good  heavens,  I  should  think  so !  "  said  Ashley 
The  imagination  of  man  could  attribute  no  crooked 
dealings  or  irregular  positions  to  Miss  Soames. 

"  Still,  I  don't  know  about  the  governor,"  Bob  ended, 
with  a  relapse  into  gloom. 

"  She'd  retire  from  her  work,  of  course?"  Ashley 
suggested,  smiling. 

"  If  she  married  me?  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Bob  de- 
cisively. "  She  wouldn't  want  the  money,  would  she?  " 
Any  other  end  of  a  profession  had  not  occurred  to  him, 
and  his  opinion  that  active  and  public  avocations  were 
not  "  unsexing  "  to  women  was  limited  by  the  proviso 
that  such  employments  must  be  necessary  for  bread- 
and-butter. 

An  eye  for  the  variety  of  the  human  mind  may  make 
almost  any  society  endurable.  Here  was  Bob  struggling 
with  conscious  daring  against  convention,  as  a  prelude 
to  paying  his  court  to  a  lady  who  worshipped  the  god 
whom  he  persuaded  himself  to  brave ;  here  was  Babba 
Flint  drifting  vulgarly,  cheerfully,  irresponsibly,  through 
all  his  life  and  what  money  he  happened  from  time  to 
time  to  possess ;  here  was  Bertie  Jewett,  his  feet  set 
resolutely  on  the  upward  track,  scorning  diversion,  cry- 
ing "  Excelsior  "  with  exalted  fervour  as  he  pictured  the 
gold  he  would  gather  and  pocket  on  the  summit  of  the 
hill;  here,  finally,  was  Ashley  himself,  who  had  once 
set  out  to  climb  another  hill,  and  now  eagerly  turned 


168     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

his  head  to  listen  to  a  sweet  voice  that  cried  to  him  from 
the  valley.  Such  differences  may  lie  behind  four  pre- 
cisely similar  and  equally  spotless  white  shirt-fronts  on 
the  next  sofa  any  evening  that  we  drop  into  the  club. 
Therefore  it  needs  discrimination,  and  perhaps  also  some 
prepossessions,  to  assign  degrees  of  merit  to  the  differ- 
ent ideas  of  how  time  in  this  world  had  best  be  passed. 

"The  fact  is,"  Babba  was  saying  to  Bertie  Jewett,  as 
he  nodded  a  knowing  head  towards  Ashley,  "  he  was 
getting  restive,  so  she  made  up  this  yarn  about  her 
husband."  He  yawned,  as  if  the  matter  were  plain  to 
dulness. 

"  What  an  ass  he  is  !  "  mused  Bertie.  "  Don't  you 
know  the  chance  he  had?  He  might  have  been  where 
lam!" 

Babba  turned  a  rather  supercilious  look  on  his 
companion. 

"  The  shop?      Must  be  a  damned  grind,  isn't  it?" 

Bertie  was  nettled  ;  he  revealed  a  little  of  what  he  had 
begun  to  learn  that  he  ought  to  conceal. 

"  I  bet  you  I  earn  a  sovereign  quicker  than  you  earn 
a  shilling,"  he  remarked. 

"  Daresay  you  do,"  murmured  Babba,  regarding  the 
end  of  his  cigar.  Babba  was  vulgar,  but  not  with  this 
sort  of  vulgarity. 

"  And  more  of  'em,"  pursued  Bertie. 

"  But  you  have  an  infernally  slow  life  of  it,"  Babba 
assured  him.  Babba  was  ignorant  of  the  engrossing 
charms  that  sparkle  in  the  eyes  of  wealth,  forbidding 
weariness  in  its  courtship,  making  all  else  dull  and  void 
of  allurement  to  its  votaries.  To  each  man  his  own 
hunger. 

Back  to  his  hunger  went  Ashley  Mead,  no  less  raven- 
ous, yet  seeing  his  craving  in  the  new  light  of  desires 


AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS  169 

revealed  to  him,  but  still  alien  from  him.  All  his  world 
seemed  now  united  in  crying  out  to  him  to  mind  his 
steps,  in  pointing  imploringly  or  mockingly  to  the  abyss 
before  his  feet,  in  weeping,  wondering,  or  laughing  at 
him.  That  some  of  the  protests  were  conscious,  some 
unwitting,  made  no  difference ;  the  feeling  of  standing 
aloof  from  all  the  rest  gave  him  a  sense  of  doom,  as 
though  he  were  set  apart  for  his  work,  and  amidst  con- 
demnation, pity,  and  ridicule  must  go  through  with  it. 
For  to-morrow  he  thought  that  she  would  come  with 
him,  leaving  Mr.  Fenning  desolate,  Sidney  Hazlewood 
groaning  over  agreements  misunderstood  as  to  their 
nature,  friends  heart-broken,  and  the  world  agape. 

But  the  next  day  she  would  not  come,  or,  rather, 
prayed  not  to  be  taken. 

"You  mustn't,  you  mustn't,"  she  sobbed.  "  Alice 
Muddock  had  made  me  angry,  oh,  and  hurt  me  so.  I 
was  ready  to  do  anything.  But  don't,  Ashley  dear, 
don't !  Do  let  me  be  good.  That  '11  be  the  best  way  of 
answering  her,  won't  it  ?     I  couldn't  answer  her  then." 

"  Alice?  What's  Alice  been  saying?"  he  asked,  for 
he  had  not  been  told  the  details  of  that  particular  case 
of  cruelty. 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  Oh,  it  was  horrible  !  Was  it  true? 
Say  it  wasn't  true  !  " 

"  You  haven't  told  me  what  it  was,"  he  objected. 

"  Oh  dear  me,  neither  I  have  !  "  cried  Ora,  drawing 
back  from  him ;  her  eyes  swam  in  tears,  but  her  lips 
bent  in  smiles.  "  How  awfully  absurd  of  me  !  "  she 
exclaimed,  and  broke  into  the  low  luxurious  laughter 
that  he  loved.  "  Well,  it  was  something  bad  of  me;  so 
it  couldn't  be  true,  could  it?  " 

He  pressed  her  to  tell  him  what  it  was  and  she  told 
him,  becoming    again  sorrowful  and  wounded   as    she 


170     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

rehearsed  the  story ;  the  point  of  view  surprised  her  so. 
To  Ashley  it  was  no  surprise,  nothing  more  than  a 
sharp  unsparing  utterance  of  the  doubts  of  his  own 
mind.  His  quarrel  with  Alice  was  that  she  said  it,  not 
that  she  thought  it;  she  was  bound  to  think  it  when  he 
in  all  his  infatuation  could  not  stifle  the  thought.  Was 
he  in  love  then  with  a  bundle  of  emotions  and  ready  to 
give  away  his  life  in  exchange  for  a  handful  of  poses  ? 
In  self-defence  he  embraced  the  conclusion  and  twisted 
it  to  serve  his  purpose.  What  more  is  anybody,  he 
asked — what  more  than  the  sheet  on  which  slide  after 
slide  is  momentarily  shewn? 

"  But  still  she  was  wrong,"  said  Ora.  "  Oh,  I  can 
forgive  her.  Of  course  I  forgive  her.  It 's  only  because 
she  's  fond  of  you.  I  know  I  'm  not  really  like  that. 
It 's  not  the  true  me,  Ashley." 

The  idea  of  the  "  true  me  "  delighted  Ora,  and  the 
"  true  me  "  required  that  Mr.  Fenning  should  be  met 
punctually  on  Sunday  next.  The  renunciation  raised 
its  head  again. 

"  The  '  true  me,'  then,  is  really  a  very  sober  and  cor- 
rect person?"  asked  Ashley. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  enjoying  the  paradox  she  as- 
serted. Her  interest  in  herself  was  frank  and  almost 
might  be  called  artistic.  "  Do  you  think  me  strange?  " 
she  asked.  "  I  believe  you  're  laughing  at  me  half  the 
time." 

"  And  the  other  half?  " 

"  We  weep  together,  don't  we?     Poor  Ashley  !  " 

On  the  Saturday  he  came  to  see  her  again  in  order  to 
make  final  arrangements  for  their  expedition  of  the  next 
day.  There  was  also  a  point  on  which  they  had  never 
touched,  to  which,  as  he  believed,  Ora  had  given  no 
consideration.     Was  Mr.  Fenning  to  settle  down  in  the 


AT    CLOSE    QUARTERS  171 

little  house  at  Chelsea?  At  present  the  establishment 
was  in  all  its  appearance  and  fittings  so  exclusively 
feminine  that  it  seemed  an  impossible  residence  for  a 
man.  Ora  was  not  in  the  room  when  Janet  ushered 
him  in ;  that  respectable  servant  lingered  near  the  door 
and,  after  a  moment's  apparent  hesitation,  spoke  to 
him. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  she  said,  "  but  could  you  tell  me 
where  I  can  get  some  good  whiskey?  " 

"  Whiskey?"  Ashley  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  Mr.  Penning,  sir,  used  to  be  particular  about  his 
whiske}',  and  as  he  's  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  Janet."  He  thought  for  a 
moment  and  mentioned  the  wine  merchant  with  whom 
Lord  Bowdon  dealt.  "  I  think  you  '11  be  safe  there,"  he 
ended  with  a  nod. 

Janet  thanked  him  and  went  out. 

"This  really  brings  it  home,"  said  Ashley,  dropping 
into  a  chair  and  laughing  weakly  to  himself.  "  To- 
morrow night  Jack  Fenning  '11  sit  here  and  drink  that 
whiskey,  while  I  —  " 

He  rose  abruptly  and  walked  about  the  room.  His 
portrait  in  the  silver  frame  was  still  on  the  little  table  by 
Ora's  favourite  seat;  not  even  a  letter  from  Bridgeport, 
Connecticut,  was  there  to  hint  of  Mr.  Fenning.  The 
demand  for  a  good  whiskey  seemed  the  sole  fore- 
runner of  the  wanderer's  return. 

"  She  doesn't  know  in  the  least  what  she  's  doing," 
Ashley  muttered  as  he  flung  himself  into  his  seat  again. 

That  afternoon  she  was  in  the  mood  hardest  for  him 
to  bear.  She  was  sanguine  about  her  husband ;  she 
recalled  the  short  time  they  had  contrived  to  be  happy 
together,  dwelt  on  the  amiable  points  in  his  character, 
ascribed  his  weaknesses  more  to  circumstances  than  to 


172     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

nature,  and  took  on  her  own  shoulders  a  generous  share 
of  blame  for  the  household's  shipwreck.  All  this  is  to 
say  that  the  reformation  for  the  instant  took  precedence 
of  the  renunciation,  and  a  belief  in  the  possibility,  not 
perhaps  of  being  happy  with  Jack,  but  at  least  of  making 
Jack  happy,  was  bedecked  in  the  robes  of  a  virtuous 
aspiration.  "  It  would  be  no  use  having  him  back  if  I 
couldn't  make  him  happy,  would  it?"  she  asked.  She 
shewed  sometimes  this  strange  forgetfulness  of  her 
friend's  feelings. 

"  I  know  I  've  got  a  photograph  of  him  somewhere," 
she  said  with  a  troubled  little  frown.  "  I  wonder  where 
it  is !  "  Then  a  lucky  thought  brought  a  smile.  "  I 
expect  he  'd  like  to  see  it  on  the  mantel-piece,  wouldn't 
he?  "  she  cried,  turning  to  Ashley. 

"  I  should  think  he  'd  be  very  touched.  He  might 
even  believe  it  had  been  there  all  the  time." 

"  Don't  be  sarcastic,"  said  Ora  good-humouredly. 
"  I  '11  ask  Janet  where  I  've  put  it." 

Janet,  being  summoned  and  questioned,  knew  where 
Miss  Pinsent  had  put  the  photograph,  or  anyhow  where 
it  was  to  be  found.     In  a  few  minutes  she  produced  it. 

"  It  is  handsome,  you  see,"  said  Ora,  handing  it  across 
to  Ashley.  She  appeared  anxious  for  a  favourable 
opinion  from  him. 

The  face  was  certainly  handsome.  The  features  were 
straight,  the  eyes  large,  the  brow  well  formed ;  there 
was  no  great  appearance  of  intellect  or  resolution,  but 
the  smile  was  amiable.  Ashley  handed  it  back  with  a 
nod  of  assent,  and  Ora  set  it  on  the  mantel-piece.  Ash- 
ley's bitterness  overflowed. 

"  Put  it  in  the  frame  instead  of  mine,"  he  said,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  to  take  his  own  portrait. 

In  an  instant  Ora  was  across  to  the  table  and  snatched 


AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS  173 

up  the  picture.     She  held    it  close  to   her   with   both 
hands  and  stood  fronting  him  defiantly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  no.  You  shan't  touch  it.  Nobody 
shall  touch  it." 

He  leant  back  with  a  smile  of  despairing  amusement. 
She  put  down  the  portrait  and  came  close  to  him,  look- 
ing at  him  intently ;  then  she  dropped  on  her  knees  be- 
side him  and  took  his  hand  between  hers. 

"  Fancy  you  daring  to  think  that !  "  she  said.  A  look 
of  terror  came  into  her  eyes.  "  You  're  not  going  to  be 
like  that?  "  she  moaned.  "  I  can't  go  on  if  you  're  go- 
ing to  be  like  that." 

He  meant  far  more  than  he  had  hinted  in  his  bitter 
speech ;  this  afternoon  he  had  intended  to  tell  her  his 
resolution;  this  was  his  last  visit  to  the  little  house; 
from  to-morrow  afternoon  he  would  be  an  acquaintance 
to  whom  she  bowed  in  the  streets,  whom  she  met  now 
and  then  by  chance.  He  might  tell  her  that  now  —  now 
while  she  held  his  hands  between  hers.  And  if  he  told 
her  that  and  convinced  her  of  it,  she  would  not  go  to 
meet  Jack  Fenning.  He  sat  silent  as  she  looked  up  in 
his  eyes.  His  struggle  was  short;  it  lacked  the  dra- 
matic presentment  of  Ora's  mental  conflicts,  it  had  no# 
heroic  poses ;  but  there  emerged  again  clearly  from  the 
fight  the  old  feeling  that  to  use  her  love  and  his  power 
in  this  fashion  would  not  be  playing  fair  ;  he  must  let 
her  have  her  chance  with  her  husband. 

"  I  was  a  brute,  Ora,"  he  said.  "  I  '11  do  just  what  you 
like,  dear." 

With  a  bound  she  was  back  to  merriment  and  her 
sanguine  view  of  favourable  possibilities  in  Mr.  Fenning. 
She  built  more  and  more  on  these  last,  growing  excited 
as  she  pictured  how  recent  years  might,  nay  must,  have 
improved  him,  how  the  faults  of  youth  mis;ht,  indeed 


174     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

would,  have  fallen  away,  and  how  the  true  man  should 
be  revealed.  "  And  if  he  wants  a  friend,  you  '11  always 
be  one  to  him,"  she  ended.  Ashley,  surrendering  at  dis- 
cretion, promised  to  be  a  friend  to  Jack  Fenning. 

The  next  day  found  her  in  the  same  temper.  She 
was  eager  and  high-strung,  merry  and  full  of  laughs, 
thoughtfully  kind,  and  again  thoughtlessly  most  cruel. 
When  he  called  for  her  in  the  morning  she  was  ready, 
waiting  for  him ;  from  her  air  they  might  have  been 
starting  again  for  a  day  in  the  country  by  themselves, 
going  to  sit  again  in  the  meadow  by  the  river,  going  to 
dine  again  in  the  inn  parlour  whose  window  opened  on 
the  sweet  old  garden.  No  such  reminiscences,  so  sharp 
in  pain  for  him,  seemed  to  rise  in  her  or  to  mar  her 
triumph.  For  triumphant  she  was;  her  great  purpose 
was  being  carried  out ;  renunciation  accomplished,  ref- 
ormation on  the  point  of  beginning.  Prosperously  the 
play  had  run  up  to  its  last  great  scene ;  soon  must  the 
wondering  applause  of  friends  fall  on  her  ear;  soon 
would  Alice  Muddock  own  that  her  virtue  had  been  too 
cruel,  and  Babba  Flint  confess  his  worldly  sagacity  at 
fault.  To  herself  now  she  was  a  heroine,  and  she  re- 
joiced in  her  achievements  with  the  innocent  vanity  of  a 
child  who  displays  her  accomplishments  to  friendly  eyes. 
How  much  she  had  suffered,  how  much  forgone,  how 
much  resisted  !     Now  she  was  to  reap  her  reward. 

Their  train  was  late  ;  if  the  boat  had  made  a  good 
passage  it  would  be  in  before  them  ;  the  passengers  who 
had  friends  to  meet  them  would  be  in  waiting.  They 
might  find  Jack  Fenning  on  the  platform  as  their  engine 
steamed  into  the  station.  They  had  talked  over  this 
half  way  through  the  journey,  and  Ora  seemed  rather 
pleased  at  the  prospect ;  Ashley  took  advantage  of  her 
happy  mood  to  point  out  that  it  would  be  better  for  him 


AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS  175 

to  leave  her  alone  with  Jack ;  he  would  get  a  plate  of 
cold  meat  somewhere,  and  go  back  to  town  by  himself 
later  on.  She  acquiesced  reluctantly  but  without  much 
resistance.  "  We  can  tell  you  about  our  journey  after- 
wards," she  said.  Then  had  come  more  rosy  pictures 
of  the  future.  At  last  they  were  finished.  There  was  a 
few  minutes'  silence.  Ashley  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  then  at  his  watch. 

"  We  ought  to  be  there  in  ten  minutes,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  grew  wide ;  her  hands  dropped  in  her  lap ; 
she  looked  at  him. 

"In  ten  minutes,  Ashley?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
It  had  come  at  last,  the  thing,  not  pictures,  not  imagin- 
ings of  the  thing.     "Ten  minutes?"  she  whispered. 

He  could  hardly  speak  to  her.  As  her  unnatural 
excitement,  so  his  unnatural  calm  fell  away;  he  lost 
composure  and  was  not  master  of  his  voice.  He  took 
her  hands  and  said,  "  Good-bye,  my  dear,  good-bye. 
I  'm  going  to  lose  you  now,  Ora." 

"  Ashley,  Ashley  !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  be  unkind,  but  there  must  be  a 
difference." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  wondering  tone.  "  There  must, 
I  suppose.     But  you  '11  come  often?" 

He  meant  never  to  come. 

"  Now  and  then,  dear,"  he  said.  Then  he  kissed  her ; 
that  he  had  not  meant  to  do ;   and  she  kissed  him. 

"  Ashley,"  she  whispered,  "  perhaps  he  won't  be  kind 
to  me;  perhaps  —  oh,  I  never  thought  of  that !  Per- 
haps he  '11  be  cruel,  or  —  or  not  what  I  've  fancied  him. 
Ashley,  my  love,  my  love,  don't  leave  me  altogether ! 
I  can't  bear  it,  indeed  I  can't.  I  shall  die  if  you 
leave  me." 

She  was  terrified  now  at  the  thought  of  the  unknown 


176    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

man  waiting  for  her  and  the  loss  of  the  man  whom  she 
knew  so  well.  Her  dramatic  scenes  helped  her  no 
more;  her  tears  and  terror  now  were  unrehearsed;  she 
clung  to  his  hand  as  though  it  held  life  for  her. 

"  Oh,  how  did  I  ever  think  I  could  do  it?"  she 
moaned.  "  Are  we  going  slower?  Is  the  train  stopping? 
Oh,  are  we  there,  are  we  there?" 

"  We  've  not  begun  to  go  slower  yet,"  he  said.  In 
five  minutes  they  must  arrive. 

"  Stay  with  me  till  I  see  him;  you  must  stay;  you 
must  stay  till  I  've  seen  what  —  what  he 's  going  to  be 
to  me.     I  shall  kill  myself  if  you  leave  me." 

"  I  '11  stay  till  you  Ve  found  him,"  Ashley  answered  in 
a  hard  restrained  voice.     "  Then  I  must  go  away." 

The  train  rumbled  on ;  they  were  among  the  houses 
now ;  the  ships  in  the  harbour  could  be  seen ;  the 
people  in  the  next  carriage  were  moving  about,  chatter- 
ing loudly  and  merrily.  The  woman  he  loved  sat  with 
despairing  eyes,  clinging  to  his  hand.  "It's  slower," 
she  whispered,  with  lips  just  parted.  "  It's  slower  now, 
isn't  it?"  The  train  went  slower;  he  nodded  assent. 
The  girl  next  door  laughed  gaily;  perhaps  she  went  to 
meet  her  lover.  Suddenly  the  brake  creaked,  they 
stopped,  there  was  something  in  the  way.  "  How  tire- 
some !  "  came  loudly  and  impatiently  from  next  door. 
Ora's  grasp  fixed  itself  tighter  on  his  hand ;  she  wel- 
comed the  brief  reprieve.  Her  eyes  drew  him  to  her; 
the  last  embrace  seemed  to  leave  her  half  animate ;  she 
sank  back  in  her  seat  with  closed  eyes.  With  a  groan 
and  a  grumble  the  wheels  began  to  move  again.  Ora 
gave  a  little  shiver  but  made  no  other  sign.  Ashley  let 
down  the  window  with  a  jerk,  and  turned  his  face  to  the 
cool  air  that  rushed  in.  He  could  not  look  more  at 
Ora;  he  had  a  thing  to  do  now,  the  last  thing,  and  it 


AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS  177 

was  not  good  for  the  doing  of  it  that  he  should  look  at 
her.  She  might  cry  again  to  him,  "  Take  me  away !  " 
and  now  he  might  forget  that  to  obey  was  not  fair  play. 
Besides,  here  came  the  platform,  and  on  the  platform  he 
would  find  Jack  Fenning.  There  may  be  passions  but 
there  must  not  be  scenes ;  he  could  not  tell  Jack  that 
he  had  decided  to  take  Ora  back  to  town  on  his  own 
account.  He  and  she  between  them  had  spun  a  web 
of  the  irrevocable ;  they  had  followed  virtue,  here  was 
the  reward.  But  where  were  the  trappings  which  had 
so  gorgeously  ornamented  it?  Ora's  eyes  were  closed 
and  she  saw  them  no  more. 

Slowly  they  crept  into  the  station ;  the  platform  was 
full  of  people  and  of  luggage ;  it  seemed  as  though  the 
boat  were  already  in.  At  last  the  train  came  to  a  stand; 
he  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  Ora's. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  wait  by  the  car- 
riage till  I  find  out  where  he  is?" 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  slowly  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Yes ;   I  '11  do  what  you  tell  me,"  she  said. 

He  opened  the  door  and  helped  her  to  get  out.  She 
shivered  and  drew  her  cloak  closer  round  her.  There 
was  a  bench  near.  He  led  her  to  it  and  told  her  to  sit 
there.  "  I  shall  know  him  and  I  '11  bring  him  to  you. 
Promise  not  to  move,"  he  said. 

Just  as  he  turned  to  leave  her  she  put  out  her  hand 
and  laid  it  on  his  arm. 

"  Ashley !  "  he  heard  her  whisper.  He  bent  down  to 
catch  what  she  said,  but  it  was  a  moment  before  she 
went  on.  It  seemed  as  though  words  came  hard  to  her 
and  she  would  like  to  tell  him  all  with  her  eyes.  She 
raised  her  other  hand  and  pointed  to  the  arm  that  rested 
on  his. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  "  he  asked. 

12 


178     A    SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you?  I  forget  what  I  Ve  told  you 
and  what  I  haven't." 

"  What  is  it?     What  do  you  want  to  tell  me?  " 

"  He  struck  me  once  ;  on  the  arm,  just  there,  with  his 
fist."  She  touched  her  arm  above  the  elbow,  near  the 
shoulder. 

She  had  never  told  him  that ;  nothing  less  than  this 
moment's  agony,  wherein  sympathy  must  be  had  at 
every  cost,  could  have  brought  it  to  her  lips.  Ashley 
pressed  her  hand  and  turned  away  to  look  for  Jack 
Penning. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   HEROINE   FAILS 

THE  fast  train,  by  which  they  ought  to  travel, 
left  for  London  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  a  slow 
train  would  follow  twenty  minutes  later.  Ashley  pro- 
cured this  information  before  undertaking  his  search; 
since  the  platform  was  still  crowded  it  seemed  possible 
that  Mr.  Fenning  would  not  be  found  in  time  for  the 
fast  train.  He  proved  hard  to  find ;  yet  he  might  have 
been  expected  to  be  on  the  look-out  Ashley  sought 
him  conscientiously  and  diligently,  but  before  long  a 
vague  hope  began  to  rise  in  him  that  the  man  had  not 
come  after  all.  What  then?  He  did  not  answer  the 
question.  It  was  enough  to  picture  Ora  freed  from  her 
fears,  restored  to  the  thoughtless  joyousness  of  their 
early  days  together.  If  by  wild  chance  he  had  found 
the  man  dead  or  heard  that  he  was  dead,  he  would  have 
been  glad  with  a  natural  heathen  exultation.  People 
die  on  voyages  across  the  Atlantic  sometimes ;  there  is 
an  average  of  deaths  in  mid-ocean ;  averages  must  be 
maintained ;  how  maintain  one  with  more  beneficial 
incidental  results  than  by  killing  Mr.  Fenning?  Ashley 
smiled  grimly;  his  temper  did  not  allow  the  humour  of 
any  situation  to  escape  him ;  he  felt  it  even  in  the  midst 
of  the  strongest  feelings.  His  search  for  Jack  Fenning, 
while  Jack  Fenning's  wife  sat  in  terror,  while  he  loved 
Jack  Fenning's  wife,  had  its  comic  side ;  he  wondered 


180     A   SERVANT    OF   THE   PUBLIC 

how  matters  would  strike  Jack,  supposing  him  to  be 
alive,  and  to  have  come ;  or,  again,  if  he  were  dead  and 
fluttering  invisible  but  open-eyed  over  the  platform. 

He  saw  the  girl  who  had  been  in  the  next  carriage, 
hanging  on  a  young  man's  arm,  radiant  and  half  in 
tears;  but  the  young  man  was  not  like  Jack's  photo- 
graph. There  were  many  young  men,  but  none  of 
them  Jack  Fenning.  He  scoured  the  platform  in  vain. 
A  whistle  sounded  loud,  and  there  were  cries  of  "  Take 
your  seats !  "  Ashley  looked  at  his  watch ;  that  was 
the  express  starting;  they  would  be  doomed  to  crawl 
to  town.  Where  the  plague  was  Jack  Fenning?  This 
suspense  would  be  terrible  for  Ora.  How  soon  could 
he  be  safe  in  going  back  and  telling  her  that  Jack  had 
not  come?  What  a  light  would  leap  to  her  face  !  How 
she  would  murmur,  "  Ashley !  "  in  her  low  rich  voice  ! 
She  seemed  able  to  say  anything  and  everything  in  the 
world  to  him  with  that  one  word,  "  Ashley  !  "  to  help  the 
eloquence  of  her  eyes. 

A  rush  of  people  scurrying  out  of  the  refreshment- 
room  and  running  to  catch  the  express  encountered 
and  buffeted  him.  Here  was  a  place  he  had  not  ran- 
sacked ;  perhaps  Jack  Fenning  was  in  the  refreshment- 
room  ;  a  remembrance  of  Janet's  anxiety  about  a  good 
whiskey  gave  colour  to  the  idea.  Ashley  waited  till  the 
exodus  was  done  and  then  strolled  in ;  the  place  was 
almost  empty  ;  the  barmaids  were  reaching  their  arms 
over  the  counter  to  gather  up  the  used  glasses  or  wipe 
the  marble  surface  with  cloths.  But  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room  there  was  a  man  standing  at  the  bar,  with  a 
tumbler  before  him ;  he  was  smoking  and  in  conversa- 
tion with  the  girl  who  served  him.  Ashley  stood  still 
on  the  threshold  for  a  moment  or  two,  watching  this 
man.     "This  is  my  man,"  he  said  to  himself;  he  seemed 


THE   HEROINE   FAILS  181 

to  have  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  the  fact  and  not  to 
rely  on  any  pose  or  air  which  he  had  noticed  in  the 
photograph;  he  knew  that  he  was  looking  at  Ora's 
husband,  and  stood  and  looked  at  him.  The  man  had 
come ;  he  was  not  dead ;  he  was  here,  drinking  at  the 
bar.  "How  much  would  he  take  to  go  away  again?" 
That  was  Ashley's  thought.  Then  he  shook  his  head 
and  walked  towards  the  man,  who  had  just  set  his  glass 
down  empty. 

"  You  '11  have  missed  the  express,"  said  the  girl  be- 
hind the  counter. 

"  I  was  bound  to  have  a  drink,"  protested  the  cus- 
tomer in  a  rather  injured  tone. 

He  turned  away,  stooped,  lifted  a  hand-bag,  and  came 
down  the  room.  Ashley  noticed  that  his  right  hand  was 
bandaged ;  he  thought  he  noticed  also  a  slight  uncer- 
tainty in  his  walk  ;  he  did  not  lurch  or  stagger,  but  he 
swayed  a  little.  "  Just  sixpenn'orth  too  much,"  was 
Ashley's  summary.  Then  he  walked  up  to  the  stranger 
and  asked  if  he  had  the  honour  of  addressing  Mr. 
Fenning. 

There  remained  always  in  Ashley  Mead's  mind  a 
memory  of  Jack  Fenning  as  he  was  that  day,  of  his 
soft  blurred  voice,  his  abashed  eyes,  his  slight  swayings, 
and  the  exaggerated  apologetic  firmness  (or  even  ag- 
gression) of  gait  that  followed  them,  of  his  uneasy  def- 
erence towards  the  man  who  met  him,  of  his  obvious 
and  unfeigned  nervousness  on  being  told  that  Miss 
Pinsent  was  waiting  for  him.  Had  child  married  child? 
The  question  leapt  to  Ashley's  thoughts.  Here  was  no 
burly  ruffian,  full  of  drink  and  violence.  He  had  been 
drinking,  but  surely  as  a  boy  who  takes  his  second  glass 
of  birthday  port,  not  knowing  the  snake  which  lurks 
among  that  pleasant,  green  grass?    He  had  struck  Ora; 


182     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

the  ugly  fact  was  there ;  yet  now  Ashley  found  himself 
asking  whether  children  had  not  their  tempers,  whether 
they  are  to  be  judged  as  men  are  judged,  as  gentlemen 
claim  to  be  judged.  Jack  Fenning  came  neither  in  a 
truculent  resentment  against  his  wife,  nor  in  a  master- 
ful assertion  of  his  rights,  nor  (which  would  have  been 
worst  of  all)  in  a  passion  for  her.  He  did  not  question 
Ashley's  position,  he  did  not  ask  how  he  came  to  be 
there  ;  nor  did  he  demand  to  be  taken  to  his  wife,  nor 
did  he  fly  to  seek  her. 

"She's  here,  is  she?"  he  said  with  an  unmistakable 
accent  of  alarm. 

"  Yes,  she  's  here.  Come  along.  I  '11  take  you  to 
her,"  said  Ashley  curtly.  He  was  angry  to  find  his 
resentment  oozing  away.  "  Didn't  you  know  she  was 
coming  to  meet  you?" 

"  She  said  she  might,"  murmured  Jack.  "  But  I 
didn't  think  she  would." 

"  I  thought  there  'd  be  a  crowd  and  so  on,  so  I  ran 
down  with  her,"  Ashley  explained,  despising  himself  for 
explaining  at  all. 

"Awfully  kind  of  you,"  said  Mr.  Fenning.  "Where 
—  where  did  you  leave  her?" 

"  Oh,  on  a  seat  on  the  platform.  Where  's  your  lug- 
gage?" 

"  Here."     He  held  up  the  hand-bag. 

"That  all?" 

"  Yes,  that 's  all,"  said  Jack  with  a  propitiatory  smile. 
"  I  didn't  see  the  good  of  bringing  much."  He  paused 
and  then  added,  "  I  haven't  got  much,  you  know." 
Another  pause  followed.  "I  hope  that  —  that  Miss 
Pinsent's  all  Tight?"  he  ended. 

"  Yes,  she 's  all  right.  Come  along."  Then  he  asked 
abruptly,  "  Hurt  your  hand?" 


THE   HEROINE   FAILS  183 

Jack  raised  his  hand  and  looked  at  it.  "  I  got  it 
burnt,"  he  said.  "  We  were  making  a  night  of  it,  and 
some  fool  made  the  poker  hot — we  had  an  open  fire 
—  and  I  didn't  see  it  was  hot  and  laid  hold  of  it." 
He  looked  at  his  companion's  face,  which  wore  a  grim 
smile.  "  Of  course  I  shouldn't  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't 
had  a  drop  too  much,"  he  added,  smiling. 

"  Good  God  !  "  groaned  Ashley  to  himself  as  he  led 
the  way.  Wouldn't  anything,  the  burly  ruffian,  the 
crafty  schemer,  or  even  the  coarse  lover,  have  been 
better  than  this?  Any  of  them  might  have  ranked  as 
a  man,  any  of  them  might  have  laid  a  grasp  on  Ora  and 
ruled  her  life  to  some  pattern.  But  what  could  or  should 
this  poor  creature  do  ?  Why,  he  had  come  at  her  bid- 
ding, and  now  was  afraid  to  meet  her ! 

"  Has  she  talked  about  me?  "  Jack  asked  timidly. 

"  Yes,  a  lot,"  said  Ashley.  He  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der and  sent  a  very  direct  glance  into  his  companion's 
eyes.  "  She 's  told  me  all  about  it,  or  nearly  all,"  he 
added.  Jack  looked  ashamed  and  acutely  distressed. 
Ashley  felt  sorry  for  him  and  cursed  himself  for  the 
feeling.  "  You  '11  get  along  better  now,  I  hope,"  he  said, 
looking  away.  Then  he  smiled  ;  it  had  occurred  to  him 
to  wonder  what  all  the  folk  who  were  so  interested  in 
the  coming  of  Mr.  Fenning  would  make  of  this  Mr. 
Fenning  who  had  come.  For  an  embodiment  of  re- 
spectability, of  regularity  of  life,  and  of  the  stability 
of  the  conjugal  relation,  this  creature  was  so  —  there 
seemed  but  one  word  —  so  flabby. 

"Is  Janet  still  with  Miss  Pinsent?"  asked  Jack.  It 
was  evident  that  he  hesitated  as  to  what  he  ought  to 
cair  his  wife.  There  was  a  little  pause  before  he  pro- 
nounced her  name. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ashley.     "  Janet 's  there.     She  's  ordered 


184     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

some  whiskey  you  '11  like."  Jack,  unobservant  of  sar- 
casm, smiled  gratefully ;  he  reminded  Ashley  of  a  child 
rather  afraid  of  its  parents  and  finding  comfort  in  the 
presence  of  a  kind  familiar  nurse.  "  It  was  about  here 
I  left  Miss  Pinsent,"  Ashley  went  on,  glancing  round. 

There  was  the  seat  on  which  Ora  had  sat;  but  Ora 
was  not  on  the  seat.  Ashley  looked  about,  scanning 
the  platform,  seeking  the  graceful  figure  and  gait  that 
he  knew  so  well.  Jack  put  his  bag  down  on  the  seat 
and  stared  at  the  roof  of  the  station. 

"I  don't  see  her,"  said  Ashley.  "She  must  have 
moved."  He  glanced  at  Jack  and  added  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  laughter,  "Now  you  must  stay  here  while  I 
look  for  her  !  " 

"  You  're  very  kind,"  said  Jack  Fenning,  sinking  down 
on  the  seat. 

"  I  might  be  the  father  of  twins,"  said  Ashley,  as  he 
walked  off.  Jack,  left  alone,  furtively  unclasped  the 
bag,  sought  a  small  bottle,  and  took  a  small  mouthful 
from  it;  he  wanted  all  his  nerve  to  meet  his  wife. 

Again  Ashley  Mead  searched  the  station  and  ran- 
sacked the  waiting-rooms;  again  in  whimsical  despair 
he  explored  the  refreshment  saloon;  all  were  empty. 
What  had  become  of  Ora?  He  returned  to  the  seat 
where  Jack  Fenning  was,  A  tall  burly  guard  stood  by 
Jack,  regarding  him  with  a  rather  contemptuous  smile. 
When  Ashley  approached  he  turned  round. 

"  Perhaps  you  're  the  gentleman,  sir?  "  he  said.  "  Mr. 
Mead,  sir?" 

"  I  'm  Mr.  Mead,"  said  Ashley. 

"  The  lady  who  went  by  the  express  left  this  note  for 
you,  sir.  I  thought  it  was  for  this  gentleman  but  he 
says  it  isn't." 

"Thanks,  I    expect   it's   for  me,"  said  Ashley,  ex- 


THE    HEROINE   FAILS  185 

changing  a  shilling  for  a  scrap  of  twisted  paper  ad- 
dressed to  him  in  Ora's  familiar  scrawl.  The  guard 
looked  at  the  pair  with  a  faint  curiosity,  spun  his 
shilling  in  the  air,  and  turned  away.  They  were,  after 
all,  a  very  unimportant  episode  in  the  life  of  the  guard. 

"  I  have  gone.  As  you  love  me,  don't  let  him  follow 
me.     I  am  heart-broken :  —  Ora." 

Thus  ran  the  note  which  Ashley  read.  At  the  last 
moment,  then,  the  great  drama  had  broken  down,  renun- 
ciation and  reformation  had  refused  to  run  in  couples, 
the  fine  scenes  would  not  be  played  and  —  the  heroine 
had  fled  from  the  theatre !  An  agreement  was  an 
agreement,  as  Mr.  Hazlewood  insisted ;  but  Ora  had 
broken  hers.  Here  was  Ashley  Mead  with  a  stray 
husband  on  his  hands  !  He  laughed  again  as  he  re-read 
the  note.  Where  had  she  gone,  poor  dear,  she  and  her 
broken  heart?  She  was  crying  somewhere  with  the 
picturesqueness  that  she  could  impart  even  to  the 
violent  forms  of  grief.  His  laugh  made  friends  with  a 
groan  as  he  looked  down  on  the  flabby  figure  of  Jack 
Fenning.  That  such  a  creature  should  make  such  a 
coil !     The  world  is  oddly  ordered. 

"What  the  devil  are  we  to  do  now?"  he  exclaimed 
aloud,  glancing  from  the  note  to  Jack,  and  back  from 
Jack  to  the  note.  The  note  gave  no  help ;  Jack's  be- 
wildered questioning  eyes  were  equally  useless.  "  She  's 
gone,"  Ashley  explained  with  a  short  laugh. 

"Gone?  Where  to?"  Helplessness  still,  not  indig- 
nation, not  even  surprise,  marked  the  tone. 

"  I  don't  know.  You  're  not  to  follow  her,  she 
says." 

Jack  seemed  to  sink  into  a  smaller  size  as  he  mut- 
tered forlornly, 

"  She  told  me  to  come,  you  know."     His  uninjured 


186     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

hand  moved  longingly  but  indecisively  towards  his  bag. 
"  Will  you  have  a  dram?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Ashley.  "  Well,  we  can't  stay 
here  all  night.     What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  saying  she  's 
gone,"  moaned  Jack. 

"  It 's  all  she  says  —  and  that  you  're  not  to  follow. 
What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

His  look  now  was  severe  and  almost  cruel ;  Jack 
seemed  to  cringe  under  it. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  muttered.  "  You  see  I  —  I  've 
got  no  money." 

"  No  money?" 

"  No.  I  had  a  little,  but  I  had  infernally  bad  luck  at 
poker,  coming  over.  You  wouldn't  believe  how  the 
luck  ran  against  me." 

Ashley  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  regarded 
his  companion. 

"  So  you  've  no  money?  " 

"About  five  shillings." 

"  And  now  you  've  no  wife  !  " 

Jack  twisted  in  his  seat.  "  I  wish  I  hadn't  come," 
he  said  fretfully. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Ashley.  "  But  here  you  are  !  "  He 
took  a  turn  along  the  platform.  The  burly  guard  saw 
him  and  touched  his  hat. 

"  Train  for  London  in  five  minutes,  sir.  The  last 
to-night,  sir.     Going  on?" 

"  Damn  it,  yes,  we  '11  go  on,"  said  Ashley  Mead.  At 
least  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  staying  there. 
"  Your  ticket  takes  you  through  to  London,  I  suppose  ?  " 
he  asked  Jack. 

"Yes,  it  does;  but  what  am  I  to  do  there?"  asked 
Jack  forlornly. 


THE    HEROINE   FAILS  187 

Something  restrained  Ashley  from  the  obvious  retort, 
"  What  the  devil  do  I  care?"  If  he  abandoned  Jack, 
Jack  must  seek  out  Ora;  he  must  track  her  by  public 
and  miscellaneous  inquiries ;  he  must  storm  the  small 
house  at  Chelsea,  braving  Ora  for  the  sake  of  Janet  and 
the  whiskey.  Or  if  he  did  not  do  that,  he  would  spend 
his  five  shillings  as  he  had  best  not,  and  —  visions  of 
police-court  proceedings  and  consequential  newspaper 
broad-sheets  rose  before  Ashley's  eyes. 

He  took  Jack  to  London  with  him.  The  return  journey 
alone  with  Mr.  Fenning  was  an  unconsidered  case,  an 
unrehearsed  effect.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fenning  were  to  have 
gone  together;  in  one  mad  pleasant  dream  he  and 
Ora  were  to  have  gone  together,  with  Jack  smoking 
elsewhere.  Reality  may  fail  in  everything  except  sur- 
prises. Ora  was  heaven  knew  where,  heart-broken  in 
Chelsea  or  elsewhere,  and  Ashley  was  in  charge  of  Mr. 
Fenning. 

"  Good  God,  how  everybody  would  laugh  !  "  thought 
Ashley,  himself  hovering  between  mirth  and  ruefulness. 
The  pencil  of  Babba  Flint  would  draw  a  fine  caricature 
of  this  journey ;  the  circumstances  might  wring  wonder 
even  from  Mr.  Hazlewood's  intimate  and  fatigued  ac- 
quaintance with  the  ways  of  genius ;  as  for  Kensington 
Palace  Gardens  —  Ashley  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  asked  Jack. 

"It's  all  so  damned  absurd,"  said  Ashley,  laughing 
still.  An  absurd  tragedy  —  and  after  all  that  Jack 
should  come  as  he  did,  be  what  he  was,  and  go  on 
existing,  was  in  essentials  pure  tragedy — seemed  set 
on  foot.  "What  am  I  to  do  with  the  fellow?"  asked 
Ashley  of  himself.  "I  can't  let  him  go  to  Chelsea." 
Nor,  on  reflection,  could  he  let  him  go  either  to  the 
workhouse   or  to  the  police-court.     In  fact,  by  an  im- 


188     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

pulsive  extension  of  the  very  habit  which  had  appealed 
so  strongly  to  his  chivalry,  Ora  had  thrown  not  herself 
only  but  her  husband  also  on  his  hands ! 

London  drew  near,  even  for  the  slow  train,  and  with 
London  came  the  problem.  Ashley  solved  it  in  a  flash, 
with  a  resolve  that  preserved  the  mixture  of  despair 
and  humour  which  had  become  his  attitude  towards  the 
situation  of  affairs.  Above  him  in  his  house  by  Char- 
ing Cross  there  lived  a  clerk;  the  clerk  had  gone  for 
a  month's  holiday,  and  had  given  liberty  to  the  house- 
keeper to  let  his  bed-sitting-room  (so  the  compound 
was  termed)  to  any  solvent  applicant.  Jack  Fenning 
should  occupy  the  room  for  this  night  at  least;  he 
would  be  safe  from  danger,  from  observation,  from  caus- 
ing trouble  at  Chelsea  or  wherever  his  wife  might  be. 
Thus  to  provide  for  him  seemed  mere  humanity ;  he 
had  but  five  shillings  and  a  weakness  for  strong  drink ; 
and  although  he  had  struck  Ora  (the  violence  grew 
more  and  more  inconceivable),  yet  in  a  sense  he  be- 
longed to  her.  "  And  something  must  happen  to  clear 
it  all  up  soon,"  Ashley  reflected  in  an  obstinate  convic- 
tion that  things  in  the  end  went  reasonably. 

A  short  interview  with  the  housekeeper  was  enough 
to  arrange  for  Jack  Fenning's  immediate  comfort;  then 
Ashley  took  him  into  his  own  room  and  gave  him  an 
improvised  supper,  and  some  whiskey  and  water  mixed 
very  weak;  Jack  regarded  it  disconsolately  but  made 
no  protest ;  he  lugged  out  a  pipe  and  began  to  smoke, 
staring  the  while  into  the  empty  grate.  "  I  wonder  where 
she 's  gone  ! "  he  said  once,  but  Ashley  was  putting  on  his 
slippers  and  took  no  notice  of  the  question.  There 
lay  on  the  table  a  note  and  a  telegram;  Jack's  eyes 
wandered  to  them.  "  Perhaps  the  wire's  from  her,"  he 
suggested  timidly. 


THE   HEROINE   FAILS  189 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ashley,  taking  it  up.  But  the  mes- 
sage was  from  Alice  Muddock  and  ran,  "  Father  had 
a  paralytic  stroke  to-day.  Afraid  serious.  Will  you 
come  to-morrow?" 

"  It 's  not  from  Miss  Pinsent,"  said  Ashley,  as  he 
turned  to  the  note.  This  was  from  Bowdon,  sent  by 
hand :  "  I  'm  glad  to  say  that  I  've  persuaded  Irene 
to  be  married  in  a  month  from  now.  As  you're  such 
a  friend  of  hers  as  well  as  of  mine,  I  hope  you  '11  be  my 
best  man  on  the  occasion." 

"  And  the  note 's  not  from  her  either,"  said  Ashley, 
walking  up  to  the  mantel-piece  and  filling  his  pipe. 

Jack  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  gulped  down  his 
weak  mixture;  he  looked  up  in  Ashley's  face  and 
smiled  feebly.  Ashley's  brows  were  knit,  but  his  lips 
curved  in  a  smile.  The  mixed  colours  held  the  field ; 
here  was  poor  old  Sir  James  come  to  the  end  of  his 
work,  to  the  end  of  new  blocks  and  the  making  of 
sovereigns ;  here  was  Bowdon  triumphantly  setting  the 
last  brick  on  the  high  wall  behind  which  he  had  en- 
trenched himself  against  the  assault  of  wayward  inclina- 
tions. Was  Irene  then  at  peace?  Would  Bob  hold  his 
own  or  would  Bertie  Jewett  grasp  the  reins?  Was 
Bowdon  resigned  or  only  fearful?  What  a  break-up  in 
Kensington  Palace  Gardens  !  What  the  deuce  should 
he  do  with  this  man  ?  And  where  in  heaven's  name  was 
Ora  Pinsent?  Ashley's  eyes  fell  on  a  couple  of  briefs 
which  had  been  sent  after  him  from  the  Temple;  it 
seemed  as  though  the  ordinary  work  of  life  were  in 
danger  of  neglect. 

"  We  can't  do  anything  to-night,  you  know,"  he  said 
to  Jack  in  an  irritated  tone.  "You  don't  want  to 
knock  her  up  to-night,  I  suppose,  even  if  she  's  at  her 
house?" 


190     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  No,"  said  Jack  meekly. 

"  Are  you  ready  for  bed  then?" 

Jack  cast  one  longing  glance  at  the  whiskey  bottle, 
and  said  that  he  was.  Ashley  led  him  upstairs,  turned 
on  the  gas,  and  shewed  him  the  room  he  was  to  occupy. 
Desiring  to  appear  friendly,  he  lingered  a  few  moments 
in  desultory  and  forced  conversation,  and,  seeing  that 
Jack's  wounded  hand  crippled  him  a  little,  began  to 
help  him  to  take  his  things  out  of  the  bag  and  lay  them 
in  handy  places.  Jack  accepted  his  services  with  regard 
to  the  bag,  and  set  about  emptying  his  own  pockets  on 
the  mantel-piece.  Presently  Ashley,  his  task  done, 
turned  round  to  see  his  companion  standing  with  back 
turned,  under  the  gas  jet;  he  seemed  to  be  regarding 
something  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  I  think  you'll  be  all  right  now,"  said  Ashley,  pre- 
paring to  make  his  escape. 

Jack  faced  round  with  a  slight  start  and  an  embar- 
rassed air.  He  still  held  in  his  hand  the  object  which 
he  had  been  regarding ;  Ashley  now  perceived  it  to  be 
a  photograph.  Was  it  Ora's —  Ora's,  treasured  through 
years  of  separation,  of  quarrel,  of  desertion  and  appar- 
ent neglect?  Had  the  man  then  grace  in  him  so  to  love 
Ora  Pinsent?  A  flash  of  kindliness  lit  up  Ashley's  feel- 
ings towards  him;  a  pang  of  sympathy  went  near  to 
making  him  sorry  that  Ora  had  fled  from  welcoming 
the  home-comer.  His  eyes  rested  on  Jack  with  a 
friendly  look;  Jack  responded  with  a  doubtful  waver- 
ing smile ;  he  seemed  to  ask  whether  he  could  in  truth 
rely  on  the  new  benevolence  which  he  saw  in  his  host's 
eyes.  Ashley  smiled,  half  at  his  own  queer  thoughts, 
half  to  encourage  the  poor  man.  The  smile  nourished 
Jack's  growing  confidence;    with  a  roguish  air  which 


THE   HEROINE   FAILS  191 

had    not  been  visible  before  he   held   out  the    picture 
to  Ashley,  saying, 

"  Pretty  girl,  isn't  she?" 

With  a  stare  Ashley  took  the  portrait.  It  could  not 
be  Ora's,  if  he  spoke  of  it  like  that;  so  it  seemed  to 
the  lover  who  translated  another's  feelings  into  his  own. 
In  an  instant  he  retracted ;  that  was  how  Jack  Fenning 
would  speak  of  Ora ;  short-lived  kindliness  died  away  ; 
the  man  was  frankly  intolerable.  But  the  sight  of  the 
picture  sent  his  mind  off  in  another  direction.  The  pic- 
ture was  not  Ora's,  unless  in  previous  days  Ora  had 
been  of  large  figure,  of  bold  feature,  of  self-assertive 
aspect,  given  to  hats  outrageous,  and  to  signing  herself, 
"  Yours  ever,  Daisy."  For  such  were  the  salient  char- 
acteristics of  the  picture  which  Mr.  Jack  Fenning  had 
brought  home  with  him.  A  perverse  freak  of  malicious 
memory  carried  Ashley  back  to  the  room  in  the  little 
house  at  Chelsea,  where  his  own  portrait  stood  in  its 
silver  frame  on  the  small  table  by  Ora's  favourite  seat. 
Mutato  nomine,  de  te  I  But,  lord,  what  a  difference  the 
name  makes ! 

u  Very  pretty,"  he  remarked,  handing  back  the  image 
which  had  occasioned  his  thought.  "  Some  one  you 
know  on  the  other  side?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  standing  the  picture  up  against  the 
wall. 

Ashley  was  absurdly  desirous  of  questioning  him,  of 
learning  more  about  Daisy,  of  discovering  whether  Mr. 
Fenning  had  his  romance  or  merely  meditated  in  tran- 
quillity on  a  pleasant  friendship.  But  he  held  himself 
back ;  he  would  not  be  more  mixed  up  with  the  man 
than  fate  and  Ora  Pinsent  had  commanded.  There  was 
something  squalid  about  the  man,  so  that  he  seemed  to 
infect  what  he  touched  with  his  own  flabby  meanness. 


192     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

How  in  the  world  had  Ora  come  to  make  him  her  hus- 
band? No  doubt  five  years  of  whiskey,  in  society  of 
which  Daisy  was  probably  too  favourable  a  specimen  to 
be  typical,  would  account  for  much.  He  need  not  have 
been  repulsive  always ;  he  might  even  have  had  a  fawn- 
ing attractiveness ;  it  hung  oddly  about  him  still.  But 
how  could  he  ever  have  commanded  love?  Love  asks 
more,  some  material  out  of  which  to  fashion  an  ideal, 
some  nobility  actual  or  potential.  At  this  point  his  re- 
flections were  very  much  in  harmony  with  the  views  of 
Alice  Muddock.  He  hated  to  think  what  Ora  had  been 
to  this  man;  now  he  thanked  God  that  she  had  run 
away.  He  would  have  liked  himself  to  run  away  some- 
where, never  to  see  Jack  Fenning,  to  forget  that  he  had 
ever  seen  him,  to  rid  Ora  of  every  association  with  him. 
It  was  odious  that  the  thought  of  her  must  bring  the 
thought  of  Fenning;  how  soon  would  he  be  able  to 
think  of  her  again  without  this  man  shouldering  his  way 
into  recollection  by  her  side?  Until  he  could  achieve 
that,  she  herself,  suffering  an  indignity,  almost  seemed 
to  suffer  a  taint. 

"  Good-night,"  said  he.  "  We  '11  have  a  talk  in  the 
morning  about  what's  to  be  done." 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Mead.  I'm  —  I'm  awfully  obliged 
to  you  for  everything." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Ashley.  He  moved  towards  the 
door.  As  he  passed  the  table  his  eye  fell  on  Jack's 
flask,  which  lay  there.  For  an  instant  he  thought  of 
cautioning  Jack  against  an  excessive  use  of  it;  but 
where  was  the  good  and  why  was  it  his  business? 
Without  more  he  left  his  unwelcome  guest  to  himself. 

And  Jack,  being  thus  left  alone,  had  some  more 
whiskey,  another  look  at  his  picture,  and  another  smoke 
of  his  pipe.     After  that  he  began  to  consider  how  very 


THE   HEROINE  FAILS  193 

hardly  his  wife  had  used  him.  Or,  rather,  he  tried  to 
take  up  and  maintain  this  position,  but  he  failed.  He 
was  so  genuinely  relieved  that  Ora  had  not  been  there ; 
he  did  not  want  to  meet  Ora ;  he  knew  that  he  would 
be  terribly  uncomfortable.  Why  had  he  come?  He 
wandered  up  to  the  mantel-piece  again  and  looked  with 
pathetic  reproach  at  the  picture  and  the  signature  below 
it. 

"I  wish  she  hadn't  made  me!"  he  groaned  as  he 
turned  away  and  began  to  undr^s  himself. 

Ora  had  allowed  him  to  come,  but  it  could  hardly  be 
said  that  she  had  made  him.  Moreover  his  protest 
seemed  to  be  addressed  to  the  picture  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 


r3 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AS   MR.   FLINT   SAID 

IRENE  KILNORTON  looked,  as  she  had  been  bid- 
den, out  of  the  window  in  Queen's  Gate  and  per- 
ceived a  four-wheeled  cab  laden  with  three  large  boxes ; 
from  that  sight  she  turned  her  eyes  again  to  Ora 
Pinsent,  who  sat  in  a  straight-backed  chair  with  an 
expression  of  unusual  resolution  on  her  face.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  on  Monday  morning. 

"  I  lay  awake  all  night,  trembling,"  said  Ora.  "  Imag- 
ine if  he'd  come  to  the  house  !  " 

"  But,  good  gracious,  you  told  him  to  come,  Ora ! 
You  must  see  him  now." 

"  I  won't.  I  thought  you  'd  be  kind  and  come  with 
me ;  but  I  'm  going  anyhow." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  Ashley  has  done  some- 
thing with  him ;   only  I  wonder  I  haven't  had  a  letter." 

"  Ashley  !  "  Lady  Kilnorton's  tone  fully  explained 
her  brief  remark,  but  Ora  only  nodded  her  head  and 
repeated,  "Yes,  Ashley." 

"  And  where  do  you  propose  to  go?  " 

"  Devonshire." 

"  And  what  about  your  theatre?" 

"  Oh,  I  've  sent  a  wire.  The  understudy  must  do  it. 
I  couldn't  possibly." 

"  And  are  you  going  alone  to  Devonshire?  " 


AS   MR.    FLINT   SAID  195 

"  Yes.  At  least  I  suppose  Ashley  couldn't  go  with 
me,  could  he?" 

"  He  would  if  you  asked  him,  I  should  think,"  said 
Irene  most  impatiently. 

"  He  can  run  down  and  see  me,  though,"  observed 
Ora  in  a  slightly  more  cheerful  tone.  "  I  shall  wire  my 
address  and  ask  him  to  let  me  know  what  — what  hap- 
pened. Only  —  only  I  'm  rather  afraid  to  know.  I 
should  like  just  to  leave  it  all  to  Ashley." 

"  I  think  you  're  quite  mad." 

"  I  was  nearly,  at  the  thought  of  meeting  him.  I 
wonder  what  Ashley  did  with  him."  A  faint  and  timid 
smile  appeared  on  her  lips  as  she  looked  at  her  friend. 
"  Their  meeting  must  have  been  rather  funny,"  she 
added,  with  obvious  fear,  but  yet  unable  to  resist  con- 
fiding her  amusement. 

"  Did  anybody  ever  beat  you,  Ora?"  demanded  Lady 
Kilnorton. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  confessed  Ora  plaintively. 

"Then  they  didn't  do  it  enough,  that's  all." 

Ora  sat  silent  for  a  moment  still,  smiling  a  little. 

"It's  no  good  being  unkind  to  me,"  she  remarked 
then.  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  done  anything 
else.  I  did  my  very  best  to  —  to  let  him  come;  but 
I  couldn't." 

"  It 's  not  very  likely  you  could,  when  you  'd  been 
spending  every  hour  of  the  day  with  Ashley  Mead ! 
Actually  took  him  to  meet  your  husband  !  " 

"I  suppose  it  was  that,  partly;  but  I  couldn't  have 
got  even  as  far  as  I  did  without  Ashley.  Why  won't 
you  come  to  Devonshire?" 

"Among  other  things,  I'm  going  to  be  married." 

"Oh!     Soon?" 

"  In  a  month." 


196    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"Really?  How  splendid!  I  should  think  Lord 
Bowdon  's  a  lovely  lover.  I  'm  sure  he  would  be."  Ora 
was  now  smiling  very  happily. 

Irene  seemed  to  consider  something  seriously  for  a 
moment  or  two ;  then  she  gave  it  utterance. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  're  disreputable,  after  all,"  she  said. 

"  No,  I  'm  not,"  protested  Ora.  "  Oh,  but,  my  dear, 
how  I  should  like  to  be !  It  would  simplify  everything 
so.  But  then  Ashley  —  "  She  broke  off  and  frowned 
pensively. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  exactly  what  you  've  done,  but 
what  you  are."  She  came  suddenly  across  the  room, 
bent  down,  and  kissed  Ora's  cheek.  Then,  as  she 
straightened  herself  again,  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  we 
can  be  friends." 

At  first  Ora  laughed,  but,  seeing  Irene  very  grave, 
she  looked  at  her  with  scared  eyes.  Irene  met  her  gaze 
fully  and  directly. 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  all  Alice  Muddock  said  to  you," 
said  Irene. 

"  No,  not  quite,"  Ora  murmured;  "  it  was  horrid." 

"  She 's  told  me  since.  Well,  she  only  said  what 
you've  made  us  all  think  of  you." 

"You?"  asked  Ora,  her  eyes  still  set  on  her  friend. 

"  Yes,"  said  Irene  Kilnorton,  and,  turning  away,  she 
sat  down  by  the  window.  A  silence  followed,  broken 
only  by  a  stamp  of  the  hoof  from  the  cab-horse  at  the 
door.  Then  Irene  spoke  again.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
you  can't  go  on  as  you  've  been  going  on,  that  it 's  im- 
possible, that  it  ruins  everybody's  life  who  has  anything 
to  do  with  you?  Don't  you  see  how  you 're  treating 
your  husband?  Don't  you  see  what  you 're  doing  to 
Ashley  Mead?" 

Ora  had  turned  rather  white,  as  she  had  when  Alice 


AS  MR.   FLINT   SAID  197 

Muddock  told  her  that  not  for  the  sake  of  fame  would 
she  pay  Ora's  price.     They  were  both  against  her. 

"  How  hard  people  are !  "  she  cried,  rising  and 
walking  about  the  room.  "  Women,  I  mean, "  she 
added  a  moment  later. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  make  men  think  what  you  like," 
said  Irene  scornfully.  "  We  women  see  what 's  true. 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  distress  you,  Ora." 

Ora  was  looking  at  her  in  despair  tempered  by  curi- 
osity. Bitterly  as  she  had  felt  Alice's  onslaught,  she 
had  ended  in  explaining  it  to  herself  by  saying  that 
Alice  was  an  exceptionally  cold  and  severe  person,  and 
also  rather  jealous  concerning  Ashley  Mead.  Irene 
Kilnorton  was  neither  cold  nor  severe,  and  Ora  had  no 
reason  to  think  her  jealous.  The  agreement  of  the  two 
seemed  a  token  and  an  expression  of  a  hostile  world  in 
arms  against  her,  finding  all  sins  in  her,  hopelessly  blind 
to  her  excuses  and  deaf  to  the  cries  of  her  heart  which 
to  her  own  ears  were  so  convincing.  Irene  thought 
that  she  ought  to  have  been  beaten  more;  if  she  told  of 
Mr.  Fenning's  isolated  act  of  violence,  Irene  would 
probably  disapprove  of  nothing  in  it  except  its 
isolation. 

"  I  thought  you  'd  sympathise  with  me,"  she  said  at 
last. 

"  Then  you  must  have  thought  me  a  goose,"  retorted 
Irene  crossly.  Her  real  feelings  would  have  led  her  to 
substitute  "  very  wicked  "  for  "  a  goose,"  but  she  had 
an  idea  that  an  ultra-moral  attitude  was  bourgeois. 
"  Goose "  gave  her  all  she  wanted  and  preserved  the 
intellectual  point  of  view. 

But  to  Ora  the  moral  and  the  intellectual  were  the 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  between  which  her  frail  bark  of 
emotions   steered    a   perilous,    bumping,    grazing   way, 


198    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

lucky  if  it  escaped  entire  destruction  on  one  or  the 
other,  or  {pace  the  metaphor)  on  both  at  once.  She 
felt  that  the  world  was  harsh  and  most  ill-adapted  to 
any  reasonable  being;  for  Ora  also  seemed  to  herself 
very  reasonable  ;  reason  follows  the  habit  of  the  chame- 
leon and  takes  colour  from  the  tree  of  emotions  on 
which  it  lies.  From  her  meditations  there  emerged  a 
sudden  terrible  dread  that  swallowed  up  every  other  feel- 
ing, every  other  anxiety.  All  the  world  (must  not  the 
world  be  judged  by  these  two  ladies  ?)  was  against  her. 
Her  action  was  to  it  beyond  understanding,  her  temper- 
ament beyond  excuse.  Would  Ashley  feel  the  same? 
"  Have  I  tired  him  out?"  she  cried  to  herself.  All  else 
she  could  surrender,  though  the  surrender  were  with 
tears;  but  not  his  love,  his  sympathy,  her  hold  over 
him.  He  must  see,  he  must  understand,  he  must  ap- 
prove. She  could  not  have  him  also  rebelling  against 
her  in  weariness  or  puzzled  disgust.  Then  indeed 
there  would  be  nothing  to  live  for ;  even  the  refuge  in 
Devonshire  must  become  an  arid  tormenting  desert. 
For  the  times  when  he  could  run  down  and  see  her  had 
gone  near  to  obliterating  all  the  other  times  in  her 
imaginary  picture  of  the  refuge  in  Devonshire:  just  as 
her  occasional  appearances  had  filled  the  whole  of  that 
picture  of  Ashley's  married  life  drawn  in  the  days  of  the 
renunciation. 

She  rose  and  bade  Irene  good-bye  with  marked 
abruptness ;  it  passed  as  the  sign  of  natural  offence, 
and  kindness  mingled  with  reproach  in  Irene's  parting 
kiss.  But  Irene  asked  no  more  questions  and  invited 
no  more  confidences.  Ora  ran  downstairs  and  jumped 
into  her  cab.  A  new  fear  and  a  new  excitement  pos- 
sessed her;  she  thought  no  more  of  Irene's  censure; 
she  asked  no  more  what  had  become  of  Jack  Fenning. 


AS   MR.    FLINT   SAID  199 

"  What  station,  miss?  "  asked  the  driver,  taking  a  look 
at  her.  He  had  seen  her  from  the  gallery  and  was 
haunted  by  a  recollection. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  going  to  the  station  !  "  exclaimed  Ora 
impatiently;  why  did  people  draw  unwarranted  infer- 
ences from  the  mere  presence  of  three  boxes  on  the 
roof  of  a  cab?  She  gave  him  Ashley's  address  with 
the  coolest  and  most  matter-of-fact  air  she  could  muster. 
But  for  the  terror  she  was  in,  it  would  have  been  pleasant 
to  her  to  be  going  for  the  first  time  to  those  rooms  of 
his  to  which  she  had  sent  so  many  letters,  so  many 
telegrams,  so  many  boy-messengers,  so  many  commis- 
sionaires, but  which  in  actual  palpable  reality  she  had 
never  seen  yet.  Reflecting  that  she  had  never  seen 
them  yet,  she  declared  that  the  reproaches  levelled  at 
her  were  absurdly  wide  of  the  mark  and  horribly  un- 
charitable. They  didn't  give  her  credit  for  her  real 
self-control.  But  what  was  Ashley  feeling?  Again 
she  cried,  "  Have  I  tired  him  out?"  Now  she  pictured 
no  longer  from  her  own  but  from  his  standpoint  the 
scene  at  the  station,  and  saw  how  she  had  left  him  to  do 
the  thing  which  it  had  been  hers  to  do.  For  the  first 
time  that  day  a  dim  half-recollected  vision  of  the  renun- 
ciation and  reformation  took  shape  in  her  brain;  she 
dubbed  it  at  once  an  impossible  and  grotesque  fantasy. 
Ashley  must  have  known  it  for  that  all  the  time ;  who 
but  Ashley  would  have  been  so  generous  and  so  tactful 
as  never  to  let  her  see  his  opinion  of  it?  Who  but 
Ashley  would  have  respected  the  shelter  that  she  made 
for  herself  out  of  its  tattered  folds?  And  now  had  she 
lost  Ashley,  even  Ashley?  By  this  time  Jack  Fenning, 
his  doings,  and  his  whereabouts,  had  vanished  from  her 
mind.     Ashley  was  everything. 

The  laden  cab  reached  the  door ;   Ora  was  out  in  a 


200     A   SERVANT  OF   THE   PUBLIC 

moment  "Wait,"  she  cried,  as  she  darted  in;  the 
driver  shifted  the  three  boxes,  so  as  to  make  room  for 
additional  luggage;  he  understood  the  situation  now; 
his  fare  had  come  to  pick  up  somebody ;  they  would  go 
to  the  station  next. 

Mr.  A.  Mead  dwelt  on  the  first  floor;  on  the  second 
floor  lived  Mr.  J.  Metcalfe  Brown.  Having  gleaned  this 
knowledge  from  names  in  white  letters  on  a  black  board, 
Ora  mounted  the  stairs.  The  servant-girl  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  and  admired  without  criticising;  charity 
reigned  here;  a  lady's  gown  was  scrutinised,  not  her 
motives.  Ora  reached  the  first  floor;  here  again  the 
door  was  labelled  with  Ashley's  name.  The  sight  of  it 
brought  a  rebound  to  hopefulness ;  the  spirit  of  the  ad- 
venture caught  on  her,  her  self-confidence  revived,  her 
fears  seemed  exaggerated.  At  any  rate  she  would  atone 
now  by  facing  the  problem  of  her  husband  in  a  business- 
like way;  she  would  talk  the  matter  over  reasonably 
and  come  to  some  practical  conclusion.  She  pulled  her 
hat  straight,  laughed  timidly,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
How  surprised  he  'd  be  !  And  if  he  were  disposed  to  be 
unkind  —  well,  would  he  be  unkind  long ?  He  had  never 
been  unkind  long.  Why,  he  didn't  answer  !  Again  she 
knocked,  and  again.  He  must  be  out.  This  check  in  the 
plan  of  campaign  almost  brought  tears  to  Ora's  eyes. 

She  must  enquire.  She  was  about  to  go  downstairs 
again  and  ring  the  bell  when  she  heard  a  door  opened 
on  the  landing  above,  and  a  man's  step.  She  paused ; 
this  man  might  give  her  news  of  Ashley ;  that  he  might 
be  surprised  to  see  her  did  not  occur  to  her.  A  moment 
later  a  voice  she  knew  well  exclaimed  in  soliloquy, 
"  Good  heavens,  what  a  creature  !  "  and  round  the  bend 
of  the  stairs  came  Ashley  himself,  in  a  flannel  jacket, 
smoking  a  pipe,  with  his  hair  much  disordered. 


AS   MR.    FLINT   SAID  201 

Ora  wore  a  plain  travelling  frock  suitable  for  a  dusty 
journey  to  Devonshire  ;  her  jacket  was  fawn  colour,  her 
hat  was  black ;  yet  even  by  these  sober  hues  the  land- 
ing seemed  illuminated  to  Ashley  Mead.  "  Well !  "  he 
cried,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  standing  still. 

"  Open  this  door,"  Ora  commanded,  in  a  little  tumult 
of  gladness ;  in  an  instant  his  eyes  told  her  that  she  had 
not  tired  him  out.     "  And  who  's  a  creature?  " 

"A  creature?"  he  asked,  coming  down. 

"  Yes.  You  said  somebody  was.  Oh,  I  know  !  The 
man  above?     Mr.  J.  Metcalfe  Brown?" 

"  Exactly,"  said  Ashley.  "  Metcalfe  Brown."  He 
took  a  key  out  of  his  pocket,  unlocked  the  door,  and 
held  it  open  for  her.     He  was  laughing. 

"  So  this  is  your  den  !  "  she  cried.  "  What  are  those 
papers?  "     The  desk  was  strewn  with  white  sheets. 

"  Our  Commission.  I  've  been  having  a  morning 
at  it." 

"Between  it  and  Metcalfe  Brown?" 

"Well,  yes,  he  does  need  some  of  my  attention." 

"  What  a  noise  he  makes !  "  said  Ora,  for  a  dragging 
tread  sounded  on  the  ceiling  of  the  room.  "  He  must 
be  rather  a  bore?" 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  Ashley,  with  a  short  laugh  and  a 
quick  amused  glance  at  her. 

"Where's  my  picture?"  Ora  demanded,  looking 
round. 

"  Strictly  concealed,"  Ashley  assured  her. 

"  I  wonder  I  Ve  never  come  here  before,"  she  reflected, 
sitting  down  in  his  arm-chair. 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  so  do  I,"  said  Ashley,  laughing 
still. 

She  was  taking  a  careful  and  interested  view  of  the 
room.     The  steps  overhead  went  on. 


202     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  I  think  it  would  be  very  nice,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  except  for  Metcalfe  Brown." 

"  There 's  always  something  one  could  do  without," 
observed  Ashley  Mead. 

"  I  like  you  in  that  coat.  Oh,  well,  I  like  you  in 
any  coat.  But  I  never  saw  you  ready  for  work  before. 
Ashley,  who  is  Metcalfe  Brown?  And  how  I  wish  he'd 
sit  still !  " 

"  He  's  a  clerk,"  said  Ashley ;  his  smile  persisted,  but 
his  brows  were  knit  in  a  humorous  puzzle. 

A  pause  followed.  Ora  looked  at  him,  smiled,  looked 
away,  looked  at  him  again.     Ashley  said  nothing. 

"You  might  ask  me  something,"  she  murmured  re- 
proachfully. He  shook  his  head.  She  rose  and  came 
behind  him;  laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  she  looked 
round  in  his  face ;  mirth  and  appeal  mingled  as  of  old 
in  the  depths  of  her  eyes.  "  Am  I  very  dreadful?  "  she 
whispered.     "  Are  you  quite  tired  of  me,  Ashley?  " 

There  was  a  sound  from  above  as  though  a  man  had 
thrown  himself  heavily  on  a  sofa  or  a  bed. 

"  Bother  Metcalfe  Brown,"  whispered  Ora.  "  Ashley, 
I  couldn't  help  it.     I  was  afraid." 

"  You  needn't  have  been  afraid  with  me,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  But  —  but  you  wouldn't  have  stayed.  I  was  so  fright- 
ened. You  know  what  I  told  you ;  I  remembered  it  all. 
He'd  had  too  much  to  drink;  he  wasn't  generally  cruel, 
but  that  made  him.     Ashley  dear,  say  you  forgive  me?  " 

The  dim  sound  of  a  quavering  voice  reached  them 
through  the  ceiling.  For  an  instant  Ora  raised  her  head, 
then  she  bent  down  again  to  Ashley. 

"  Because  I  'm  going  away,  to  Devonshire,"  she  went 
on.  "  And  I  mayn't  see  you  for  ever  so  long,  unless 
you  '11  come  and  see  me ;  and  Irene  Kilnorton  says  you 


AS    MR.    FLINT    SAID  203 

oughtn't  to.  But  you  must.  But  still  it  will  be  days ! 
Oh,  how  shall  I  pass  days  without  you?  So  do  forgive 
me  before  I  go." 

"  Forgive  you !  "  said  he  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Ah,  you  do,"  she  sighed.  "  How  good  you  are, 
Ashley."  She  pressed  his  shoulder  with  her  hand.  "  I 
couldn't  go  on  living  if  it  wasn't  for  you,"  she  said. 
"  Everybody  else  is  so  hard  to  me.  I  ran  away  last  night 
because  I  couldn't  bear  to  lose  you  !  "  She  paused  and 
moved  her  face  nearer  his,  as  she  whispered,  "  Could 
you  bear  to  lose  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Metcalfe  Brown  tumbled  off  the  bed  and  seemed 
to  stagger  across  the  room  towards  the  mantel-piece. 

"  No,"  said  Ashley  Mead. 

"  But  I  'm  going  away ;  my  boxes  are  on  the  cab  out- 
side. I  daren't  stop  now  he  's  come ;  I  might  meet  him ; 
he  might  —  no,  I  daren't  stay."  Her  voice  fell  yet 
lower  as  she  asked,  "What  did  he  say?  Where  is  he? 
What  have  you  done  with  him  ?  " 

Ashley  gently  raised  her  hand  from  his  arm,  rose,  and 
walked  to  the  fireplace.  He  looked  at  her  as  she  bent 
forward  towards  him  in  the  tremulous  eagerness  of  her 
questioning,  with  fear  and  love  fighting  in  her  eyes,  as 
though  she  looked  to  him  alone  both  for  safety  and  for 
joy.  And,  as  it  chanced,  Mr.  Metcalfe  Brown  made  no 
sound  in  the  room  above ;  it  was  possible  altogether  to 
forget  him. 

Ora  took  the  chair  that  Ashley  had  left  and  sat  look- 
ing at  him.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  said  nothing;  it 
was  the  pause  before  the  plunge,  the  last  hasty  reckon- 
ing of  possibilities  and  resources  before  a  great  stake. 
Then  he  set  all  on  the  hazard. 

"  You  needn't  have  run  away,"  he  said  in  a  cool, 
almost  bantering  tone.     "  Fenning  didn't  turn  up  at  all." 


204     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Mr.  Metcalfe  Brown  walked  across  the  room  and  threw 
himself  into  a  chair;  at  least  the  sounds  from  above  in- 
dicated some  such  actions  on  his  part. 

"  I  don't  know  why,  but  he  didn't,"  said  Ashley  with 
a  momentary  glance  at  the  ceiling  —  rather  as  though  he 
feared  it  would  fall  on  him. 

"Not  come?"  she  whispered.  "Oh,  Ashley!  "  She 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  hold  herself  in  the  chair  by 
the  grasp  of  her  hands  on  its  arms.  Then  she  rose  and 
moved  slowly  towards  him.     "  He  didn't  come?" 

"  Not  a  sign  of  him." 

"  And  —  and  he  won't,  will  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  so,"  said  Ashley,  smiling. 

Ora  seemed  to  accept  his  answer  as  final.  She  stood 
still,  for  a  moment  grave,  then  breaking  into  a  gurgle  of 
amused  delighted  laughter.  Ashley  glanced  again  at 
the  ceiling;  surely  a  man  who  had  ever  heard  that  laugh 
must  remember  it!  But  had  the  man  upstairs?  Was 
not  that  laugh  made  and  kept  for  him  himself  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world  ?     So  his  madness  persuaded  him. 

"  Rather  funny,  wasn't  it?  So  I  came  back  alone  by 
the  slow  train  —  a  very  slow  train  it  was,  without  you." 

Ora's  mood  was  plain  enough.  She  was  delighted, 
and  she  was  hardly  surprised.  No  instability  of  purpose 
and  no  change  of  intention  were  out  of  harmony  with 
her  idea  of  her  husband.  There  was  no  telling  why  he 
had  not  come,  but  there  was  nothing  wonderful  in  his 
not  coming.  She  spread  her  arms  out  with  a  gesture 
of  candid  self-approval. 

"  Well,  I  've  done  my  duty,"  said  she. 

"Yes,"  said  Ashley,  smiling.  He  was  relieved  to 
find  his  word  taken  so  readily.  "  But  do  you  think 
you're  doing  it  by  staying  here?" 

"  How  rude  you  are  !     Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 


AS   MR.   FLINT   SAID  205 

"It's  irregular.  And  somebody  might  come."  He 
paused  and  added,  "  Suppose  Metcalfe  Brown  dropped 
in?" 

"What  would  he  think?"  cried  Ora  with  sparkling 
eyes.     "Is  he  a  very  steady  young  man?" 

"I  don't  know;  he's  got  a  picture  signed  'Yours 
ever,  Daisy,'  on  his  mantel-piece." 

Ora's  eyes  shewed  no  recognition  of  "  Daisy." 

"  The  girl  he  's  engaged  to,  I  suppose,"  she  said  rather 
scornfully;  high  and  unhappy  passion  is  a  little  con- 
temptuous of  a  humdrum  engagement. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Ashley  cautiously. 

"Oh,  he's  moving  about  again;  and  he's  singing!  I 
wish  we  could  hear  better!"  For  the  sound  of  the 
voice  was  very  muffled.  "  I  know  that  tune  though. 
Where  have  I  heard  it  before?" 

"  Everybody  used  to  torture  one  with  it  a  few  years 
ago ;  somebody  sang  it  at  the  Alhambra." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  went  with  —  I  went  once  and  heard  it." 

The  voice  died  down  in  a  gentle  grumble.  The  little 
puzzled  frown  with  which  Ora  had  listened  also  passed 
away. 

"  Going  to  Devonshire?  "  asked  Ashley  Mead. 

"  To  Devonshire?  No,"  said  Ora  decisively.  "  Why 
should  I  go  away  now  ?  " 

"  You  must  go  away  from  here." 

"Must  I,  Ashley?" 

"Yes,  you  must.     Consider  if  Metcalfe  Brown  —  " 

"  Oh,  bother  your  Metcalfe  Brown  !  There  's  always 
somebody  like  that !  " 

"Yes,  generally.  Come,  I'll  take  you  to  your 
cab  —  " 

"  But  you  '11  come  and  see  me  to-morrow?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  come  to-morrow." 


206     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Oh,  isn't  everything  perfect?  What's  that?  He 
must  be  throwing  the  fire  irons  about !  " 

"  Never  mind  him.     Come  along." 

"  I  don't  mind  him.  I  don't  mind  anybody  now. 
How  could  I  ever  have  thought  of  bringing  —  of  doing 
what  I  did?  Why  did  you  let  me,  Ashley?  But  it's 
all  right  now,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Come  down  quietly;   Metcalfe  Brown  '11  hear  us." 

"I  don't  care." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must.     Consider  my  reputation  !  " 

"Very  well,  I  '11  be  quiet,"  said  Ora  with  another  low 
and  joyous  laugh. 

They  stole  downstairs  together.  Metcalfe  Brown  was 
quiet;  he  did  not  open  his  door,  lookout,  glance  down 
the  well  of  the  stairs  and  see  who  was  Ashley  Mead's 
companion;  he  sat  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and 
his  glass  by  his  side,  while  Ora  escaped  in  safety  from 
the  house. 

The  cabman  had  employed  his  leisure  first  in  re- 
collecting how  his  fare's  face  came  to  be  familiar  to 
him,  secondly  (since  he  had  thus  become  interested  in 
her),  in  examining  the  luggage  labels  on  the  three  large 
boxes.  There  was  a  friendliness,  and  also  a  confidence, 
in  his  manner  as  he  leant  down  from  his  box  and 
said, 

"  Paddington,  Miss  Pinsent?" 

"  Paddington !  No,"  said  Ora.  Ashley  began  to 
laugh.  Ora  laughed  too,  as  she  gave  her  address  in 
Chelsea. 

"  Where  I  took  you  up,  miss?  "  asked  the  cabman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ora,  bright  with  amusement.  "  It  really 
must  seem  rather  funny  to  him,"  she  said  in  an  aside 
to  Ashley,  as  she  got  in.  The  cabman  himself  was 
calling   the  affair  "  a  rum    start,"    as    he    whipped    up 


AS    MR.    FLINT    SAID  207 

his  horse.  To  Ashley  Mead  it  seemed  very  much  the 
same. 

There  were,  however,  two  people  who  were  not  very 
seriously  surprised,  Janet  the  respectable  servant  and 
Mr.  Sidney  Hazlewood  the  accomplished  comedian. 
They  received  Ora,  at  the  house  in  Chelsea  and  at 
the  theatre  respectively,  with  a  very  similar  wrinkling 
of  the  forehead  and  a  very  similar  sarcastic  curving 
of  the  lips ;  to  both  of  them  the  ways  of  genius  were 
well  known.  "  Mr.  Fenning  hasn't  come  after  all," 
said  Ora  to  Janet,  while  to  Mr.  Hazlewood  she  observed 
"  I  felt  so  much  better  that  I  've  come  after  all."  Janet 
said,  "Indeed,  ma'am."  Mr.  Hazlewood  said,  "All 
right,"  and  sent  word  to  the  understudy  that  she  was 
not  wanted.  On  the  whole  her  sudden  change  of  plan 
seemed  to  Ora  to  cause  less  than  its  appropriate  sensa- 
tion —  except  to  the  cabman,  whose  demeanour  had 
been  quite  satisfactory. 

As  Mr.  Hazlewood  was  dressing  for  his  part,  it 
chanced  that  Babba  Flint  came  in,  intent  on  carrying 
through  an  arrangement  rich,  as  were  all  Babba's,  in 
prospective  thousands.  When  the  scheme  had  been 
discussed,  Hazlewood  mentioned  Ora's  wire  of  the 
morning  and  Ora's  appearance  in  the  evening.  Babba 
nodded  comprehendingly. 

"  Something  to  do  with  the  husband  perhaps," 
Hazlewood  hazarded.  "Not  that  it  needs  any  par- 
ticular explanation,"  he  added,  hiding  his  wrinkle  with 
some  paint. 

"  Husband,  husband?  "  said  Babba  in  a  puzzle.  "  Oh, 
yes !  By  Jove,  he  was  to  come  yesterday !  Hasn't 
turned  up,  of  course?" 

"  Haven't  seen  or  heard  anything  of  him." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Babba  placidly.     "  I  knew  he 


208     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

wouldn't.  I  told  Bowdon  he  wouldn't,  but  Bowdon 
wouldn't  bet.     Give  me  a  wire,  though." 

Hazlewood's  dresser  was  ready  with  a  telegraph-form 
and  Babba,  in  the  wantonness  of  exuberant  triumph, 
sent  a  message  to  Bowdon's  house  asserting  positively 
that  Mr.  Fenning  had  not  come.  That  evening  Bowdon 
dined  with  Irene,  and  the  telegram,  forwarded  by  mes- 
senger, reached  him  there.  After  dinner  Alice  ran  in 
to  give  news  of  a  rather  better  character  concerning 
her  father.  She  also  heard  the  contents  of  Babba 
Flint's  message.  Ora's  underlying  desire  for  a  sensation 
would  have  been  satisfied.     They  were  all  amazed. 

"This  morning  she  thought  he  had  come,"  Irene 
persisted.  "  I  wonder  if  Ashley  Mead  knows  anything 
about  it.     Have  you  seen  him,  Alice?" 

"  No ;  he  telegraphed  that  he  couldn't  possibly 
come  to  Kensington  Palace  Gardens  to-day,  but  would 
early  to-morrow." 

Alice's  tone  was  cold ;  Ashley  ought  to  have  gone  to 
Kensington  Palace  Gardens  that  day,  she  thought. 

"  It's  very  odd,  isn't  it,  Frank?  "  asked  Irene. 

"  It 's  not  our  affair,"  said  Bowdon ;  he  was  rather 
uncomfortable. 

"  Except,"  said  Irene  with  a  glance  at  Alice  and  an 
air  of  reserved  determination,  "  that  we  have  to  consider 
a  little  what  sort  of  person  she  really  is.  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it,  do  you,  Alice?" 

No  less  puzzled  was  Ashley  Mead  as  he  kept  guard 
on  the  man  to  whom  he  had  transferred  the  name  of 
Metcalfe  Brown,  and  wondered  how  he  was  to  persevere 
in  his  assertion  that  the  man  had  not  come.  For  here 
the  man  was,  and,  alas,  by  now  the  man  was  peevishly 
anxious  to  see  his  wife;  from  no  affection,  Ashley 
was   ready   to  swear,    but,  as  it  seemed,  in  a   sort   of 


AS   MR.    FLINT    SAID  209 

fretful  excitement.  No  doubt  even  to  such  a  creature 
the  present  position  was  uncomfortable;  possibly  it 
appeared  even  degrading. 

"  We  '11  settle  about  that  to-morrow,"  said  Ashley 
Mead;  and  in  spite  of  a  pang  of  self-reproach  he 
added,  "  Have  a  little  drop  more  whiskey?  " 

For  to-night  must  be  tided  over;  and  whiskey  was 
the  only  tide  that  served. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS 


KENSINGTON  Palace  Gardens,  whither  Ashley 
Mead  hastened  early  on  Tuesday  morning,  was 
not  the  same  place  to  him  as  it  had  been.  The  change 
went  deeper  than  any  mere  shadow  of  illness  or  atmos- 
phere of  affliction.  There  was  alienation,  a  sense  of 
difference,  the  feeling  of  a  suppressed  quarrel.  The  old 
man  knew  him,  but  greeted  him  with  a  feeble  fretfulness, 
Lady  Muddock  was  distantly  and  elaborately  polite, 
even  in  Bob  a  constraint  appeared.  Alice  received  him 
kindly,  but  there  was  no  such  gladness  at  his  coming  as 
had  seemed  to  be  foreshadowed  by  her  summons  of 
him.  Was  she  resentful  that  he  had  not  come  the  day 
before?  That  was  likely  enough,  for  his  excuses  of 
pressing  business  did  not  sound  very  convincing  even 
to  himself.  But  here  again  he  sought  a  further  explana- 
tion and  found  it  in  a  state  of  things  curiously  unwelcome 
to  him.  It  may  be  easy  to  abdicate;  it  is  probably 
harder  to  stand  by  patiently  while  the  new  monarch 
asserts  his  sway  and  receives  homage.  Bertie  Jewett 
was  in  command  at  Kensington  Palace  Gardens;  when 
Sir  James  could  talk  he  called  Bertie  and  conferred 
with  him ;  on  him  now  Lady  Muddock  leaned,  to  him 
Bob  abandoned  the  position  by  birth  his  own ;  it  was 
his  advice  which  Alice  repeated,  his  opinions  which  she 
quoted  to  Ashley  Mead  as  they  took  a  turn  together  in 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  211 

the  garden.  Both  business  and  family,  the  big  house 
and  the  big  block,  owned  a  new  master ;  Bertie's  star 
rose  steadily. 

Ashley  was  prepared  with  infinite  scorn.  He  watched 
the  upstart  with  an  eye  acute  to  mark  his  lapses  of 
breeding,  of  taste,  and  of  tact,  to  discern  the  vulgarity 
through  affected  ease,  the  coarseness  of  mind  beneath 
the  superficial  helpfulness.  Something  of  all  these  he 
contrived  to  see  or  to  persuade  himself  that  he  saw,  but 
a  whole-hearted  confident  contempt  denied  itself  to  him. 
There  is  a  sort  of  man  intolerable  while  he  is  making- 
his  way,  while  he  pushes  and  disputes  and  shoulders 
for  place ;  the  change  which  comes  over  him  when  his 
position  is  won,  and  what  he  deems  his  rights  acknowl- 
edged, is  often  little  less  than  marvellous.  It  is  as 
though  the  objectionable  qualities,  which  had  seemed 
so  ingrained  in  him  and  so  part  of  him  that  they  must 
be  his  from  cradle  to  grave  and  perhaps  beyond,  were 
after  all  only  armour  he  has  put  on  or  weapons  he  has 
taken  into  his  hand  of  his  own  motion,  to  do  his  work ; 
the  work  done  they  are  laid  aside,  or  at  least  so  hidden 
as  merely  to  suggest  what  before  they  displayed  offen- 
sively. So  concealed,  they  are  no  longer  arrogant  or 
domineering,  but  only  imply  a  power  in  reserve;  they 
do  no  more  than  remind  the  rash  of  what  has  been  and 
may  be  again.  In  part  this  great  transformation  had 
passed  over  Bertie  Jewett;  the  neat  compact  figure, 
the  resolute  eye,  the  determined  mouth,  the  brief  confi- 
dent directions,  wrung  even  from  Ashley  admiration 
and  an  admission  that,  if  (as  poor  old  Sir  James  used  to 
say)  the  "  stuff"  was  in  himself,  it  was  in  Bertie  also, 
and  probably  in  fuller  measure.  Neither  business  nor 
family  would  lack  a  good  counsellor  and  a  bold  leader; 
neither  family  nor  business  would  suffer  by  the  substitu- 


212     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

tion  of  Bertie  for  himself.  Watching  his  successor,  he 
seemed  to  himself  to  have  become  superfluous,  suddenly 
to  have  lost  his  place  in  the  inmost  hearts  of  these 
people,  and  to  have  fallen  back  to  the  status  of  a  mere 
ordinary  friendship. 

Was  that  in  truth  Alice's  mood  towards  him?  It  was 
not,  but  his  jealous  acuteness  warned  him  that  it  soon 
might  be.  She  did  not  tell  him  now  that  she  disliked 
Bertie  Jewett ;  she  praised  Bertie  with  repentant  gener- 
osity, seeking  opportunities  to  retract  without  too  much 
obtrusiveness  the  hard  things  she  had  said,  and  fasten- 
ing with  eager  hand  on  all  that  could  be  commended. 
Ashley  walked  by  her,  listening. 

"  Where  we  should  be  without  him  now  I  don't 
know,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  do  much,  and  Bob  —  well, 
Bob  wants  somebody  to  guide  him." 

"  I  hope  you  11  let  me  be  of  any  use  I  can,"  he  said ; 
in  spite  of  himself  the  words  sounded  idle  and  empty. 

"  You  're  most  kind,  Ashley,  always,  but  I  don't 
think  there  's  anything  we  need  trouble  you  about  for 
the  present.  We  don't  expect  any  immediate  change 
in  father." 

"  When  I  said  I  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  business,  I  didn't  include  Kensington  Palace 
Gardens  in  the  word." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  didn't.  Indeed  I  '11  ask  you  for 
help  when  I  want  it." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  he  said, 
"  You  agreed  with  me  about  the  business.  Do  you 
still  think  I  was  right?" 

"  I  'm  more  than  ever  sure  of  it,"  she  answered  with 
a  direct  gaze  at  him.  "  I  grow  surer  of  it  every  day. 
It  wasn't  the  least  suited  to  you ;  nor  you  to  it,  you 
know."     She  smiled  as  she  spoke  the  last  words. 


THE  MAN  UPSTAIRS  213 

"And  Jewett's  in  his  element?  " 

"  I  hear  he  's  wonderfully  able,  and  he  's  very  nice 
and  considerate  about  everything  too.  Oh,  no,  you  'd 
never  have  done  for  it." 

What  she  said  was  what  she  had  always  said ;  she 
had  always  been  against  his  selling  the  ribbons,  had 
thought  that  he  was  too  good  to  sell  ribbons  and  loved 
him  for  this  very  thing.  But  the  same  words  may 
carry  most  different  implications ;  was  not  the  idea  in 
her  head  now  that,  if  it  would  not  have  been  good  for 
him  to  sell  the  ribbons,  neither  would  it  have  been  good 
for  the  ribbons  nor  for  the  family  whose  prosperity  de- 
pended on  them?  Her  smile  had  been  indulgent  rather 
than  admiring;  he  accused  her  of  reverting  to  the  com- 
mercial view  of  life  and  of  suffering  a  revival  of  the 
family  prejudices  and  of  the  instinct  for  getting  and 
reverencing  wealth.  He  felt  further  from  her  and  de- 
tected a  corresponding  feeling  in  her.  He  studied  her 
in  the  light  of  that  unreasonable  resentment  with  which 
Bertie  Jewett  inspired  him ;  he  saw  that  she  read  him 
in  the  light  of  her  judgment  of  Ora  Pinsent;  and  he 
knew  tolerably  well  what  she  thought  and  said  of  Ora 
Pinsent.  They  were  further  apart.  Yet  at  the  end  old 
kindliness  revived  and  he  clasped  her  hand  very  heartily. 

"I  'm  always  at  your  orders,"  he  said.     "  Always." 

She  smiled ;  did  she  intend  to  remind  him  that  the 
day  before  he  had  neglected  her  summons?  His  con- 
science gave  her  smile  that  meaning,  and  he  could  not 
tell  her  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  play  jailer  to 
Mr.  Fenning  —  for  Mr.  Fenning  had  not  come  !  But  her 
smile  was  not  reproachful ;  it  was  still  indulgent.  She 
seemed  to  expect  him  to  say  such  things,  to  know  he 
would,  to  accept  them  as  his  sincere  meaning  at  the 
time,  but  not  to   expect  too  much  from  them,  not   to 


214    A   SERVANT   OF   THE  PUBLIC 

take  them  quite  literally,  not  to  rely  on  them  with  the 
simple  ample  faith  that  the  words  of  a  solid  trust- 
worthy man  receive.  The  love  that  has  lived  on  admi- 
ration may  live  with  indulgence ;  she  seemed  still  to  love 
him  although  now  with  opened  eyes.  And  when  he 
was  gone,  she  turned  back  to  the  business  of  life  with  a 
sigh,  to  business  and  Bertie  Jewett.  Back  she  went  to 
work,  and  in  her  work  Ashley  Mead  had  no  longer  a 
place. 

At  this  time,  among  his  conquests  —  and  they  were 
over  himself  as  well  as  others  —  Bertie  Jewett  achieved 
a  complete  victory  over  Irene  Kilnorton's  old  dislike  of 
him.  He  was  so  helpful,  so  unobtrusive,  so  strong,  so 
different  from  feather-headed  people  who  were  here  one 
moment  and  elsewhere  the  next,  whom  you  never  knew 
where  to  have.  She  had  what  was  nearly  a  quarrel  with 
Bowdon  because  he  observed  that,  when  all  was  said 
and  done,  Bertie  was  not  a  gentleman. 

"  Nonsense,  Frank,"  she  said  tartly.  "  He  only  wants 
to  go  into  society  a  little  more.  In  all  essentials  he  's  a 
perfect  gentleman." 

Bowdon  shook  his  head  in  impenetrable,  silent,  male 
obstinacy.  He  was  not  apt  at  reasons  or  definitions, 
but  he  knew  when  he  did  and  when  he  did  not  see  a 
gentleman  before  him ;  he  and  his  ancestors  had  spent 
generations  in  acquiring  this  luxury  of  knowledge.  His 
shake  of  the  head  exasperated  Irene. 

"  I  like  him  very  much,"  she  said.  "  He  has  just  the 
qualities  that  made  me  like  you.  One  can  depend  on 
him ;  he 's  not  harum-scarum  and  full  of  whims.  You 
can  trust  yourself  with  men  like  that." 

"  I  hope  I  'm  not  as  dull  as  I  sound,  my  dear,"  said 
Bowdon  patiently. 

"Dull!     Who  said  you  were  dull?      I  said   I   could 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  215 

trust  you,  and  I  said  I  could  trust  Bertie  Jewett  Oh, 
I  don't  mean  to  say  he 's  fascinating  like  Ashley 
Mead.  At  least  I  suppose  Ashley  is  fascinating  to  most 
people." 

"  Most  women  anyhow,"  murmured  Bowdon. 

"  I  consider,"  said  Irene  solemnly,  "  that  Ora  Pinsent 
has  done  him  infinite  harm." 

"  Poor  Miss  Pinsent !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  it 's  *  Poor  Miss  Pinsent ' !  If 
you  'd  been  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  you  'd  have  said 
nothing  but '  Poor  Eve ' !     But,  Frank  —  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  I  believe  Alice  is  getting  tired  of  him  at  last." 

Here  was  a  useful  conquest  —  and  a  valuable  ally  — 
for  Bertie  Jewett.  Bowdon  perceived  the  bent  of  Irene's 
thoughts. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  muttered  gently,  between  half- 
opened  lips.  Then  he  smiled  to  himself  a  little  ruefully. 
Was  Alice  also  to  seek  a  refuge?  Remorse  came  hard 
on  the  heels  of  this  ungracious  thought,  and  he  kissed 
Irene  gallantly. 

"  Suppose,"  he  suggested,  "  that  you  were  to  be  con- 
tent with  looking  after  your  own  wedding  for  the  present 
and  leave  Miss  Muddock  to  look  after  hers." 

Irene,  well  pleased,  returned  his  kiss,  but  she  also 
nodded  sagaciously,  and  said  that  if  he  waited  he  would 
see. 

Bowdon  was  now  so  near  his  marriage,  so  near  invio- 
lable safety,  that  he  allowed  himself  the  liberty  of  think- 
ing about  Ora  Pinsent  and  consequently  of  Ashley 
Mead.  That  the  husband  had  not  come  —  Babba's 
triumphant  telegram  was  still  in  his  pocket  —  surprised 
as  much  as  it  annoyed  him.  In  absence  from  Ora  he 
was  able  to  condemn  her  with  a  heartiness  which  his 


216    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

fiancee  herself  need  not  have  despised;  that  his  con- 
demnation could  not  be  warranted  to  outlast  a  single 
interview  with  its  object  was  now  no  matter  to  him,  but 
merely  served  to  explain  the  doings  of  Ashley.  Ash- 
ley was  hopelessly  in  the  toils,  this  was  clear  enough. 
Strangely  hovering  between  self-congratulation  on  his 
own  escape  and  envy  of  the  man  who  had  not  run 
away,  Bowdon  asked  what  was  to  be  the  end,  and,  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  saw  but  one  end.  Ashley  would  pay 
dear  and  would  feel  every  penny  of  the  payment.  His 
was  a  nature  midway  between  Ora's  and  Irene's,  perhaps 
it  had  something  even  of  Alice  Muddock's;  he  had  a 
foot  in  either  camp.  Reason  struggled  with  impulse  in 
him,  and  when  he  yielded  he  was  still  conscious  of  what  he 
lost.  He  could  not  then  be  happy,  and  he  would  hardly 
find  contentment  in  not  being  very  unhappy.  He  must 
be  tossed  about  and  torn  in  two.  Whither  would  he  go 
in  the  end?  "  Anyhow  I'm  safe,"  was  Bowdon's  un- 
expressed thought,  given  new  life  and  energy  by  the 
news  that  Ora  Pinsent's  husband  had  not  come.  For 
now  the  tongues  would  be  altogether  unchained,  and 
defence  of  her  hopeless.  Had  she  ever  meant  him  to 
come,  ever  believed  that  he  was  coming,  ever  done 
more  than  fling  a  little  unavailing  dust  in  the  world's 
keen  eyes  ?  The  memory  of  her,  strong  even  in  its  decay, 
rose  before  him,  and  forbade  him  to  embrace  heartily 
what  was  Irene's  and  would  be  everybody's  theory.  But 
what  other  theory  was  there  ? 

Bowdon  was  living  in  his  father's  house  in  Park  Lane, 
and  these  meditations  brought  him  to  the  door.  A  ser- 
vant awaited  him  with  the  news  that  Ashley  was  in  the 
library  and  wanted  to  see  him.  The  business  of  their 
Commission  brought  Ashley  often,  and  it  was  with  only 
a  faint  sense  of  coincidence  that  Bowdon  went  in  to 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  217 

meet  him.  Ashley  was  sitting  on  a  sofa,  staring  at  the 
ceiling.  He  sprang  up  as  Bowdon  entered ;  there  was 
a  curious  nervousness  in  his  air. 

"  Here  you  are,  Bowdon  !  "  he  cried.  Bowdon  noticed, 
without  resenting,  the  omission  of  his  title ;  hitherto,  in 
deference  to  seniority  and  Bowdon's  public  position, 
Ashley  had  insisted  on  saying  "  Lord  Bowdon."  He 
inferred  that  Ashley's  mind  was  busy. 

"Here  I  am,  Ashley.  What  do  you  want?  More 
witnesses,  more   reports,  what  is  it?" 

"It's  not  the  Commission  at  all." 

"  Take  a  cigar  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

Ashley  obeyed  and  began  to  smoke  quickly;  he  stood 
now,  while  Bowdon  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  In  about  a  month  I  shall  have  seven  hundred  pounds 
coming  in,"  said  Ashley.  "  Just  now  I  've  only  a  hun- 
dred at  the  bank." 

"  Present  economy  and  the  prospect  of  future  recom- 
pense," said  Bowdon,  smiling. 

"  I  want  five  hundred  now,  to-day.  They  '11  give  it 
me  at  the  bank  if  I  get  another  name.    Will  you  — ?  " 

"  I  won't  give  you  my  name,  but  I  '11  lend  you  five 
hundred." 

Ashley  looked  down  at  him.  "  Thank  you,"  he  said. 
"  Do  you  trust  your  servant?  " 

"  More  than  you,  Ashley,  and  I  'm  lending  you  five 
hundred." 

"  Then  send  him  round  to  the  bank." 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  can  write  a  cheque." 

"No,  I  want  five  hundred-pound  notes  —  new  ones," 
said  Ashley,  with  his  first  glimmer  of  a  smile. 

"Very  well,"  said  Bowdon.  He  went  to  the  table, 
wrote  a  cheque,  rang  the  bell,  and,  when  his  personal 
servant  had  been  summoned,  repeated  Ashley's  request. 


218      A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"Very  good,  my  lord,"  said  the  man,  and  vanished. 
Bowdon  lit  a  cigarette  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"  It 's  for  — ,"  Ashley  began. 

"  As  you  like  about  that,"  said  Bowdon.  "  Only  why 
were  they  to  be  new  hundred-pound  notes?" 

"In  order  to  appeal  to  the  imagination.  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  about  it." 

"  As  long  as  it 's  because  you  want  and  not  because 
I  want,  all  right." 

"  I  believe  I  'm  going  to  do  a  damned  rascally  thing." 

"  Can't  you  keep  it  to  yourself  then?  "  asked  Bowdon, 
with  a  plaintive  intonation  and  a  friendly  look.  "  At 
present  I  've  lent  you  five  hundred.  That 's  all !  They 
can't  hit  me." 

"  I  want  somebody  to  know  besides  me,  and  I  Ve 
chosen  you." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  muttered  Bowdon  resignedly. 

Ashley  walked  twice  across  the  room  and  came  to  a 
stand  again  opposite  his  friend. 

"  The  notes  are  for  Miss  Pinsent's  husband,"  said 
he. 

Bowdon  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  he,  with  lifted  brows. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say;   for  Fenning." 

"As  the  price  of  not  coming?" 

"Who  told  you  he  hadn't  come?" 

"  Babba  Flint ;   but  it 's  all  over  the  place  by  now." 

"Babba's  wrong,"  said  Ashley.  "  He  came  on  Sun- 
day night.  The  notes  are  to  bribe  him  to  go  away 
again." 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  Bowdon  said  slowly : 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  a  bit  more  about  this,  if  you 
don't  mind,  Ashley.  The  money  *s  yours.  I  promised 
it.     But  still  —  since  you  've  begun,  you  know  !  " 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  219 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Ashley  quickly.  "  Look  here, 
I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it." 

The  hands  ticked  the  best  part  of  the  way  round  the 
clock  while  Ashley  talked  without  pause  and  uninter- 
rupted, save  once  when  the  notes  were  brought  in  and 
laid  on  the  table.  He  told  how  the  man  had  come, 
what  the  man  was,  how  Ora  had  fled  from  him,  and 
how,  while  the  man  moved  about  in  the  room  above,  he 
himself  had  told  her  that  the  man  had  not  come.  He 
broke  off  here  for  an  instant  to  say,  "  You  can  under- 
stand how  I  came  to  tell  her  that?  "  On  receiving  Bow- 
don's  assenting  nod  he  went  on  to  describe  how  for  two 
days  he  had  kept  his  prisoner  quiet;  but  now  he  must 
take  some  step.  "  I  must  take  him  to  her,  or  I  must 
murder  him,  or  I  must  bribe  him,"  he  ended,  with  the 
laugh  that  accompanies  what  is  an  exaggeration  in 
sound  but  in  reality  not  beyond  truth. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  said  Bowdon  at  the  end. 

"  You  haven't  seen  him  as  I  have,"  was  Ashley's 
quick  retort.     To  him  it  seemed  all  sufficient. 

"Used  to  beat  her,  did  he?"  Bowdon  was  instinc- 
tively bolstering  up  the  case.  Ashley  hesitated  a  little 
in  his  answer. 

"  She  said  he  struck  her  once.  I  'm  bound  to  say  he 
doesn't  seem  violent.  Drink,  I  suppose.  And  she  — 
well,  it  might  seem  worse  than  it  was.  Why  the  devil 
are  we  to  consider  him?     He's  impossible  anyhow." 

"  I  wasn't  considering  him.  I  was  considering  our- 
selves." 

"I'm  considering  her." 

"  Oh,  I  know  your  state  of  mind.  Well,  and  if  he 
takes  the  money  and  goes?" 

"  She  '11  be  quit  of  him.     It  '11  be  as  it  was  before." 

"  Will   it  ? "    asked   Bowdon   quietly.     The  two  men 


220     A   SERVANT   OF   THE    PUBLIC 

regarded  one  another  with  a  long  and  steady  gaze. 
Ashley's  eyes  did  not  shirk  the  encounter. 

"I  mean  that,"  he  said  at  last.  "But—."  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  He  would  do  his 
best,  but  he  could  answer  for  nothing.  He  invited 
Bowdon  to  take  his  stand  by  him,  to  fix  his  attention 
only  on  saving  her  the  ordeal  which  had  proved  beyond 
her  strength,  just  to  spare  her  pain,  to  ask  nothing  of 
what  lay  beyond,  not  to  look  too  anxiously  at  the  tools 
they  were  using  or  the  dirt  that  the  tools  might  leave  on 
their  hands.  Bowdon  gained  a  sudden  understanding 
of  what  Irene  Kilnorton  had  meant  by  saying  that  Ora 
did  Ashley  infinite  harm ;  but  above  this  recognition 
and  in  spite  of  it  rose  his  old  cry  so  scorned  by  Irene, 
"  Poor  Ora  Pinsent !  "  To  him  as  to  Ashley  Mead  the 
thought  of  carrying  this  man  to  Ora  Pinsent  and  say- 
ing, "You  sent  for  him,  here  he  is,"  was  well  nigh 
intolerable. 

They  were  both  men  who  had  lived,  as  men  like  them 
mostly  live,  without  active  religious  feelings,  without  any 
sense  of  obligation  to  do  good,  but  bound  in  the  strict- 
est code  of  honour,  Pharisees  in  the  doctrine  and  canons 
of  that  law,  fierce  to  resent  the  most  shamefaced 
prompting  of  any  passion  which  violated  it.  A  rebel 
rose  against  it  —  was  it  not  rebellion?  —  drawing 
strength  from  nowhere  save  from  the  pictured  woe  in 
Ora  Pinsent's  eyes.  They  sat  smoking  in  silence,  and 
now  looked  no  more  at  one  another. 

"  It 's  got  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  Bowdon  broke  out 
once. 

"  Then  take  back  your  money,"  said  Ashley  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  towards  the  notes  on  the  table. 

"  You  're  on  the  square  with  me,  anyhow,"  said  Bow- 
don with  a  reluctant  passing  smile.       He  wished  that 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  221 

Ashley  had  been  less  scrupulous  and  had  taken  his 
money  without  telling  him  what  use  he  meant  to  put 
it  to. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  you  'd  better  come  and  see  the 
fellow,"  said  Ashley.  "  That  '11  persuade  you  I  'm  right, 
if  anything  will." 

Bowdon  had  become  anxious  to  be  persuaded  that 
the  thing  was  right,  or  at  least  so  excusable  as  to  be 
near  enough  to  the  right,  as  to  involve  no  indefensible 
breach  of  his  code,  no  crying  protest  from  his  honour ; 
if  the  sight  of  the  man  would  convince  him,  he  was 
ready  and  eager  to  see  the  man.  Besides,  he  had  a 
curiosity.  Ora  had  married  the  man ;  this  adventitious 
interest  hung  about  Jack  Fenning  still. 

"  Pocket  the  notes,  and  come  along,"  he  said,  rising. 

They  were  very  silent  as  they  drove  down  to  Ashley's 
rooms.  The  affair  did  not  need,  and  perhaps  would 
not  bear,  much  talking  about;  if  one  of  them  happened 
to  put  it  in  the  wrong  way  they  would  both  feel  very 
uncomfortable;  it  could  be  put  in  a  right  way,  they 
said  to  themselves,  but  so  much  care  was  needed  for 
this  that  silence  seemed  safer.  Bowdon  was  left  in 
Ashley's  rooms  while  Ashley  went  upstairs  to  fetch 
Mr.  Fenning,  whom  he  found  smoking  his  pipe  and 
staring  out  of  the  window.  Ashley  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  carry  matters  with  a  high  hand. 

"  I  want  you  downstairs  a  minute  or  two,"  he  said 
curtly. 

"All  right;  I  shall  be  jolly  glad  of  a  change,"  said 
Jack,  with  his  feeble  smile.  "  It 's  pretty  slow  here,  I 
can  tell  you." 

"  Hope  you  won't  have  much  more  of  it,"  Ashley 
remarked,   as  he  led  the  way  downstairs. 

To  suggest  to  a  man  that  he  is  of  such  a  disposition 


222     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

as  to  be  ready  to  surrender  his  claim  to  his  wife's 
society,  take  himself  off  for  good,  and  leave  her  fate 
in  the  hands  of  gentlemen  who  are  not  related  to  her 
in  consideration  of  five  hundred  pounds,  is  to  intimate 
that  you  hold  a  very  peculiar  opinion  of  him.  Even 
with  Jack  Fenning  Ashley  felt  the  difficulties  of  the 
position.  Bowdon  gave  him  no  help,  but  sat  by,  watch- 
ing attentively.  The  high-handed  way  was  the  only 
way ;   but  it  seemed  rather  brutal  to  bully  the  creature. 

Ashley  began.  In  a  pitiless  fashion  he  hinted  to  Jack 
what  he  was,  and  hazarded  the  surmise  that  he  set  out 
to  rejoin  his  wife  for  much  the  same  reason  which  Babba 
Flint  had  thought  would  appeal  to  him.  Bowdon  waited 
for  the  outbreak  of  anger  and  the  flame  of  resentment. 
Jack  smiled  apologetically  and  rubbed  his  hands  against 
one  another. 

The  other  two  exchanged  a  glance ;  their  work  grew 
easier ;  it  seemed  also  to  grow  more  disgusting.  The 
man  was  passive  in  their  hands ;  they  had  it  all  to  do ; 
the  responsibility  was  all  theirs. 

"We  propose,  Mr.  Fenning,  that  you  should  return 
to  America  at  once,  without  seeing  Miss  Pinsent  or 
informing  her  of  your  arrival.  You  have  lost  time 
and  incurred  expense  —  and  —  er  —  no  doubt  you  're 
disappointed.  We  shall  consider  all  this  in  a  liberal 
spirit."  Ashley's  speech  ended  here;  he  was  inclined 
to  add,  "  I  '11  deal  with  you  as  one  scoundrel  with 
another." 

"Go  back  now,  without  seeing  her?"  Was  there 
actually  a  sparkle  of  pleasure,  or  relief,  or  thankfulness 
in  his  eye?  Ashley  nodded,  took  out  the  notes,  and 
laid  them  on  the  table.  Bowdon  shifted  his  feet,  lit  a 
cigarette,  and  looked  away  from  his  companions  out  of 
the  window. 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  223 

"  I  have  here  five  hundred  pounds.  If  you  '11  take 
the  first  boat  and  slip  away  without  letting  your  —  er  — 
visit  be  known  to  anybody,  I  '11  hand  them  over  to  you, 
when  you  step  on  board." 

Jack  shook  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  You  see  I  'm 
out  of  a  place,"  he  said.  "  I  threw  up  my  position  to 
come." 

He  was  haggling  about  the  price,  nothing  else; 
Bowdon  got  up  and  opened  the  window. 

"  I  made  a  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  returning  to  Miss 
Pinsent;  my  expenses  have  been  —  " 

"  For  God's  sake,  how  much  do  you  want  ? "  said 
Bowdon,  turning  round  on  him. 

"There's  a  little  spec  I  know  of — "  began  Jack, 
with  a  confidential  smile. 

"  How  much?  "  said  Ashley. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  run  to  a  thousand,  Mr.  Mead. 
A  thousand  's  not  much  for  —  " 

"  Doing  what  you  're  doing  ?  No,  it 's  damned  little," 
said  Ashley  Mead. 

"  Give  him  the  money,  Ashley,"  said  Bowdon  from 
the  window. 

"  All  right,  I  '11  give  it  you  when  I  see  you  on  board. 
Mind  you  hold  your  tongue  while  you  're  here  ! " 

Jack  was  smiling  happily ;  he  seemed  like  a  man  who 
has  brought  off  a  great  coup  which  was  almost  beyond 
his  hopes,  in  which,  at  least,  he  had  never  expected  to 
succeed  so  readily  and  easily.  Looking  at  him,  Ashley 
could  not  doubt  that  if  he  and  Bowdon  had  not  furnished 
means  for  the  "  little  spec  "  Ora  Pinsent  would  have 
been  asked  to  supply  them. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go  back.  I  never  wanted  to 
come.  I  didn't  want  to  bother  Miss  Pinsent.  I  've  my 
own  friends."     There  was  a  sort  of  bravado  about  him 


224     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

now.  "  Somebody  '11  be  glad  to  see  me,  anyhow,"  he 
ended  with  a  laugh. 

"No  doubt,"  said  Ashley  Mead;  his  tone  was  civil; 
he  loathed  Mr.  Fenning  more  and  more,  but  it  was  not 
the  moment  for  him  to  get  on  moral  stilts.  Bowdon 
was  as  though  he  had  become  unconscious  of  Jack's 
proximity. 

"  There  's  a  boat  to-morrow;  I  '11  try  for  a  passage  on 
that." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  Ashley  said. 

"Yes,  the  sooner  the  better,"  said  Fenning.  He 
looked  doubtfully  at  the  two  men  and  glanced  across  to 
a  decanter  of  whiskey  which  stood  on  a  side  table. 

"  Then  we  needn't  say  any  more,"  Ashley  remarked, 
hastily  gathering  the  crisp  notes  in  his  hand;  Jack 
eyed  them  longingly.  "  I  '11  see  you  again  to-night. 
Good-bye."  He  nodded  slightly.  Bowdon  sat  motion- 
less. Again  Jack  looked  at  both,  and  his  face  fell  a 
little.  Then  he  brightened  up  ;  there  was  whiskey  up- 
stairs also.  "  Good  afternoon,"  he  said,  and  moved 
towards  the  door;  he  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands  with 
Bowdon ;  he  knew  that  Bowdon  would  not  wish  to 
shake  hands  with  him;  and  the  knowledge  did  not 
trouble  him. 

"  Oh,  Ashley,  my  boy,  Ashley !  "  groaned  Bowdon 
when  the  door  closed  behind  Mr.  Fenning. 

"  He  came  to  blackmail  her." 

"  Evidently.  But  —  I  say,  Ashley,  was  he  always  like 
that?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Ashley  Mead  almost  fiercely. 
"  He  must  have  been  going  down  hill  for  years.  Good 
God,  Bowdon,  you  know  the  change  liquor  and  a  life 
like  his  make  in  a  man." 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  muttered  Bowdon. 


"  'SOMEBODY   XL   BE   GLAD  TO    SEE   ME,   ANYHOW,'    HE    ENDED 
WITH    A   LAUGH."— Page   224. 


THE   MAN   UPSTAIRS  225 

"  Thank  heaven  we  've  saved  her  from  seeing  him  as 
he  is  now  !  " 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that  too."  Bowdon  rose  and  flung  the 
window  open  more  widely.  "  Tell  you  what,  Ashley," 
he  said,  "  it  seems  to  me  the  room  stinks." 

Ashley  made  no  answer ;   he  smiled,  but  not  in  mirth. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Ashley  went  to  open 
it.     Jack  Fenning  was  there. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Mead,"  he  said,  "  but  if  you  '11 
give  me  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  '11  write  for  the  passage ;  and 
I  may  have  to  pay  something  extra  for  going  back  by 
this  boat." 

"  I  '11  look  after  that.  Here  's  paper."  And  he 
hustled  Mr.  Fenning  out. 

At  the  moment  a  tread  became  audible  on  the  stairs. 
Ashley  stood  where  he  was.  "  Somebody  coming,"  he 
said  to  Bowdon.  "  Hope  he  won't  catch  Fenning !  " 
Then  came  voices.  The  two  men  listened  ;  the  door 
was  good  thick  oak,  and  the  voices  were  dim.  "  I  know 
that  voice,"  said  Ashley.     "Who  the  deuce  is  it?" 

"  It 's  a  man,  anyhow,"  said  Bowdon.  He  had  en- 
tertained a  wild  fear  that  the  visitor  might  be  Ora  her- 
self; the  scheme  of  things  had  a  way  of  playing  tricks 
such  as  that. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  said  the  voice,  not  Jack  Fenning's. 
They  heard  Jack  going  upstairs  ;  at  the  same  moment 
came  the  shutting  of  his  door  and  a  knock  at  Ashley's. 
With  a  glance  at  Bowdon,  warning  him  to  be  discreet, 
Ashley  opened  it.  Mr.  Sidney  Hazlewood  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

"  Glad  to  find  you  in,"  he  said,  entering.  "  How  are 
you,  Bowdon?  I  want  your  advice,  Mead.  Somebody 's 
stealing  a  piece  of  mine  and  I  thought  you  'd  be  able  to 
tell  me  what  to  do.     You  're  a  lawyer,  you  see." 

15 


226     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Yes,  in  my  spare  time,"  said  Ashley.     "  Sit  down." 

Hazlewood  sat  and  began  to  take  off  his  gloves. 

"  You  've  got  a  queer  neighbour  upstairs,  that  fellow 
Foster,"  he  said.  "  He  told  me  he  'd  made  your 
acquaintance  too." 

"  He  's  only  here  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  had  to  be 
civil." 

"  Funny  my  meeting  him.  I  used  to  come  across 
him  in  the  States.     Don't  you  be  too  civil." 

"  I  know  he  's  no  great  catch,"  said  Ashley. 

"  He  lived  by  his  wits  out  there,  and  very  badly  at 
that.  In  fact  he  'd  have  gone  under  altogether  if  he  'd 
been  left  to  himself." 

Ashley  felt  that  Bowdon's  eyes  were  on  him,  but 
Bowdon  took  no  share  in  the  talk. 

"  Who  looked  after  him  then?  "  he  asked. 

"  His  wife,"  said  Hazlewood.  "  She  used  to  walk  on, 
or  get  a  small  part,  or  sing  at  the  low-class  halls,  or 
anything  you  like.  Handsome  girl  in  a  coarse  style. 
Daisy  Macpherson,  that 's  what  they  called  her.  She 
kept  him  more  or  less  going  ;  he  always  did  what  she 
told  him."  He  paused,  and  added  with  a  reflective 
smile,  "  I  mean  she  said  she  was  his  wife,  and  liked  to 
be  called  Mrs.  Foster  in  private  life." 

This  time  neither  Bowdon  nor  Ashley  spoke.  Hazle- 
wood glanced  at  them  and  seemed  to  be  struck  with  the 
idea  that  they  were  not  much  interested  in  Foster  and 
the  lady  who  was,  or  said  she  was,  his  wife. 

"But  I  didn't  come  to  talk  about  that,"  he  went  on 
rather  apologetically.  "  Only  it  was  odd  my  meeting 
the  fellow." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Ashley  carelessly.  "  What 's 
the  play,  Hazlewood,  and  who  's  the  thief?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MORALITY    SMILES 

FOR  Ora  Pinsent  the  clouds  were  scattered,  the 
heavens  were  bright  again,  the  sun  shone.  The 
dread  which  had  grown  so  acute  was  removed,  the  ne- 
cessity for  losing  what  had  come  to  be  so  much  to  her 
had  passed  away.  And  all  this  had  fallen  to  her  with- 
out blame,  without  calling  for  abasement  or  self-re- 
proach. Nay,  in  the  end,  on  a  view  of  the  whole  case, 
she  was  meritorious.  She  had  summoned  her  husband 
back ;  true,  at  the  last  moment  she  had  run  away  from 
him  and  shirked  her  great  scenes ;  but  if  he  had  really 
come  (she  told  herself  now)  she  would  have  conquered 
that  momentarily  uncontrollable  impulse  and  done  her 
duty.  After  a  few  days'  quiet  in  the  country  she  would 
have  gained  strength  and  resolution  to  carry  out  her 
programme  of  renunciation  and  reformation.  But  he 
had  not  come  and  now  he  would  not  come ;  not  even  a 
message  came.  He  refused  to  be  reformed ;  there  was 
no  need  for  anybody  to  be  renounced.  She  had  done 
the  right  thing  and  by  marvellous  good  fortune  had  es- 
caped all  the  disagreeable  incidents  which  usually  at- 
tend on  correct  conduct.  None  could  blame  her;  and 
she  herself  could  rejoice.  She  had  offered  her  husband 
his  due;  yet  there  was  nothing  to  separate  her  from 
Ashley  or  to  break  the  sweet  companionship.  At  last 
fate  had  shewn  her  a  little  kindness ;  the  world  unbent 


228     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

towards  her  with  a  smile,  and  she,  swiftly  responsive, 
held  out  both  her  hands  to  it  in  welcome  for  its  new 
benevolence.  Trouble  was  over,  the  account  was 
closed ;  she  was  even  as  she  had  been  before  the  hate- 
ful letter  came  from  Bridgeport,  Connecticut.  In  very 
truth  now  she  could  hide  the  letter  among  the  roses  and 
let  it  lie  there  forgotten ;  the  realities  had  fallen  into  line 
with  the  symbols.  As  for  the  people  who  were  to  have 
been  edified  by  the  reformation  and  comforted  by  the 
renunciation,  why,  Irene  and  Alice  Muddock  had  both 
been  so  inexplicably  harsh  and  unkind  and  unsympa- 
thetic that  Ora  did  not  feel  bound  to  make  herself  mis- 
erable on  their  account.  Irene  had  got  her  husband, 
Alice  did  not  deserve  the  man  whom  Ora  understood 
her  to  want.  It  happened  that  she  herself  was  made 
for  Ashley  and  Ashley  for  her;  you  could  not  alter 
these  things;  there  they  were.  She  lay  back  on  the 
sofa  with  her  eyes  on  the  portrait  in  the  silver  frame, 
and  declared  that  she  was  happier  than  she  had  been 
for  years.  If  only  Ashley  would  come  !  For  she  was 
rather  hurt  at  Ashley's  conduct.  Here  was  Thursday 
morning  and  he  had  not  been  to  see  her.  He  had  writ- 
ten very  pretty  notes,  pleading  pressing  engagements, 
but  he  had  not  come.  She  was  a  little  vexed,  but  not 
uneasy;  no  doubt  he  had  been  busy.  She  would,  of 
course,  have  excused  him  altogether  had  she  known 
that  it  was  only  on  Wednesday  evening  that  he  was  free 
from  his  burden  and  back  in  town,  after  seeing  his  pas- 
senger safely  embarked  on  the  boat  which  was  to  carry 
him  and  his  thousand  pounds  back  to  Bridgeport, 
Connecticut,  or  somewhere  equally  far  from  the  town 
where  she  was. 

Although  Ashley  did  not  come,  she  had  a  visitor,  and 
although   the   visitor   was   Babba   Flint,  he    came   not 


MORALITY   SMILES  229 

merely  in  curiosity.  His  primary  business  was  con- 
nected with  a  play.  He  had  the  handling  (such  was 
his  expression)  of  a  masterpiece;  the  heroine's  part 
was  made  for  Ora,  the  piece  would  do  great  things 
here,  but,  Babba  asserted,  even  greater  in  America. 
The  author  wanted  Ora  to  play  in  it  —  authors  have 
these  whims  —  and,  if  she  consented,  would  offer  his 
work  to  Mr.  Hazlewood  ;  but  Hazlewood  without  Ora 
would  not  serve  the  turn. 

"  So  I  ran  round  to  nobble  you,"  said  Babba. 
"  You  know  Sidney  wants  to  go  to  the  States,  if  he  can 
get  plays.  Well,  mine  (he  had  not  actually  written  it) 
is  a  scorcher." 

"  Should  I  have  to  go  to  America?"  asked  Ora 
apprehensively. 

"  It 's  absurd  you  haven't  been  before."  He  pro- 
ceeded to  describe  Ora's  American  triumph  and  the 
stream  of  gold  which  would  flow  in.  "  You  take  a 
share,"  he  said.  "  I  can  offer  you  a  share.  Sidney 
would  rather  have  you  on  a  salary,  but  take  my  advice 
and  have  a  share." 

The  conversation  became  financial  and  Ora  grew  ap- 
parently greedy.  As  Alice  Muddock  had  noticed,  she 
had  the  art  of  seeming  quite  grasping  and  calculating. 
But  about  going  to  America  she  gave  no  answer.  The 
matter  was  not  urgent;  the  thing  would  not  become 
pressing  for  months.  On  being  cross-questioned  Babba 
admitted  that  the  masterpiece  was  not  yet  written ;  the 
idea  was  there  and  had  been  confided  to  Babba ;  he 
was  thunderstruck  with  it  and  advised  an  immediate 
payment  of  two  hundred  pounds.  Then  the  master- 
piece would  get  itself  written ;  all  wheels  must  be  oiled 
if  they  are  to  run. 


230     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  And  if  you  take  half,  you  '11  make  a  fortune,"  said 
Babba. 

Making  a  fortune  for  a  hundred  pounds  was  the  kind 
of  operation  which  attracted  Ora. 

"  I  '11  write  you  a  cheque  now,"  she  said. 

Babba  smiled  in  a  superior  manner. 

"  There  isn't  all  that  hurry,  as  long  as  you  're  on,"  he 
observed.  "  Won't  you  give  me  a  kiss  for  putting  you 
on?" 

"  If  it  goes  as  you  say,  I  '11  give  you  a  kiss  —  a  kiss 
for  every  thousand  I  make,"  said  Ora,  laughing. 

"There  won't  be  any  of  me  left,"  groaned  Babba, 
with  a  humorous  assumption  of  apprehension.  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  glanced  at  her  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye,  and  added,  "  But  what  would  Mr.  Fenning 
say?  " 

Ora  sat  on  her  sofa  and  regarded  him.  She  said 
nothing ;  she  was  trying  to  look  grave,  resentful,  digni- 
fied—  just  as  Alice  Muddock  would  look  ;  she  knew  so 
well  how  vulgar  Babba  was  and  how  impertinent.  Alas 
that  he  amused  her  !  Alas  that  just  now  anybody  could 
amuse  and  delight  her !  Her  lips  narrowly  preserved 
their  severity,  but  her  eyes  were  smiling.  Babba,  hav- 
ing taken  a  survey  of  her,  fell  into  an  appearance  of 
sympathetic  dejection. 

"  Awfully  sorry  he  didn't  come  !  "  he  murmured ;  "  I 
say,  don't  mind  me  if  you  want  to  cry." 

"  You  're  really  atrocious,"  said  Ora,  and  began  to 
laugh.     "  Nobody  but  you  would  dare,"  she  went  on. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  in  him  all  right,  you  know,"  said 
Babba,  "  because  I  've  seen  him.  But  most  people 
don't,  you  know.  I  say,  Miss  Pinsent,  it'd  have  a 
good  effect  if  you  advertised  ;   look  bond  fide,  you  know." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  about  it,  really  you  mustn't,"  said 


MORALITY   SMILES  231 

Ora,  with  twitching  lips.  It  was  all  wrong  (Ch,  what 
would  Alice  Muddock  say?),  but  she  was  very  much 
amused.  If  her  tragedy  of  renunciation  would  turn  to 
a  comedy,  she  must  laugh  at  the  comedy. 

"  Keep  it  up,"  said  Babba,  with  a  grave  and  sincere 
air  of  encouragement.  "  Postpone  him,  don't  give  him 
up.  Let  him  be  coming  in  three  months.  It  keeps  us 
all  interested,  you  know.  And  if  you  positively  can't 
do  anything  else  with  him,  divorce  him." 

Ora's  eyes  turned  suddenly  away. 

"  Anyhow  don't  waste  him,"  Babba  exhorted  her. 
"  I  tell  you  there 's  money  in  him." 

"  Now  you  must  stop,"  she  said  with  a  new  note  of 
earnestness.     It  caught  Babba's  attention. 

"  Kick  me,  if  you  like,"  said  he.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  minded,  though." 

"  I  don't  think  I  did,  much,"  said  Ora.  Then  she  sat 
up  straight  and  looked  past  Babba  with  an  absent  air. 
She  had  an  idea  of  asking  him  what  he  thought  of  her 
in  his  heart.  He  was  shrewd  under  his  absurdities, 
kind  under  his  vulgarity;  he  had  never  made  love  to 
her;  in  passing  she  wondered  why.  But  after  all  no- 
body thought  Babba's  opinion  worth  anything. 

"Do  you  remember  meeting  Miss  Muddock  here?" 
she  enquired. 

"  Rather,"  said  Babba.  "  I  know  her  very  well.  Now 
she  's  a  good  sort  —  reminds  you  of  your  mother  grown 
young." 

"  Well,  she  thought  you  detestable,"  said  Ora.  The 
praise  of  Alice  was  not  grateful  to  her,  although  she 
acknowledged  the  aptness  of  Babba's  phrase. 

"Yes,  she  would,"  said  he  cheerfully.  "I've  got  to 
shoulder  that,  you  know.  So  have  we  all,  if  it  comes 
to  that." 


232     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  We  all !  What  do  you  mean?  "  Ora  did  not  seem 
amused  now. 

"  Oh,  our  sort,"  said  Babba.  "  I  '11  leave  you  out,  if 
you  particularly  wish  it." 

"Just  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  Can't,  for  the  life  of  me,"  said  Babba.  "  Have  a 
cigarette?"  He  held  out  his  case;  Ora  took  a  ciga- 
rette. They  both  began  to  smoke.  "  But  we  give  her 
fits,"  he  went  on  in  a  meditative  tone,  as  of  a  man  who 
recognised  facts,  although  he  disclaimed  all  power  of 
explaining  them.  "  I  tell  you  what,  though  —  "  he  re- 
sumed ;   but  again  he  paused. 

"Well?"  said  Ora  irritably. 

"That's  the  sort  to  marry,"  said  Babba,  and  put  his 
cigarette  in  his  mouth  with  a  final  air. 

"  Ask  her,  then,"  said  Ora,  with  an  uncomfortable 
laugh. 

"  I  think  I  see  myself!  "  smiled  Babba.  "  How  should 
we  mix?  " 

Ora  rose  from  the  sofa  and  walked  restlessly  to  the 
window.  Her  satisfaction  with  the  world  was  shadowed. 
She  decided  to  tell  Babba  nothing  of  what  Alice  Mud- 
dock,  nothing  of  what  Irene  Kilnorton,  had  said  to  her. 
For,  strange  as  it  seemed,  Babba  would  understand,  not 
ridicule,  appreciate,  not  deride,  be  nearer  endorsing  than 
resenting.  He  would  not  see  narrow,  ignorant,  unchari- 
table prejudice;  it  appeared  that  he  would  recognise 
some  natural  inevitable  difference,  having  its  outcome 
in  disapproval  and  aloofness.  Was  there  this  gulf? 
Was  Babba  right  in  sitting  down  resignedly  on  the 
other  side  of  it?  Her  thoughts  flew  off  to  Ashley  Mead. 
On  which  side  of  the  gulf  was  he?  And  if  on  the  other 
than  that  occupied  by  "  our  sort,"  would  he  cross  the 
gulf?     How  would  he  cross  it? 


MORALITY   SMILES  233 

"  Well,  you  '11  bear  the  matter  of  the  play  in  mind," 
said  Babba,  rising  and  flinging  away  his  cigarette. 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  me  about  plays  now,"  cried  Ora 
impatiently. 

Babba  stood  hat  in  hand,  regarding  her  critically. 
He  saw  that  she  was  disturbed ;  he  did  not  perceive 
why  she  should  be.  The  change  of  mood  was  a  vagary 
to  be  put  up  with,  not  accounted  for ;  there  was  need  of 
Mr.  Hazlewood's  philosophy.     He  fell  back  on  raillery. 

"  Cheer  up,"  he  said.     "  He  '11  turn  up  some  day." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Ora,  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot.  "  Go 
away." 

"Not  unpardoned?"  implored  Babba  tragically.  Ora 
could  not  help  laughing,  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand 
in  burlesque  grandeur,  and  allowed  him  to  kiss  it. 

"  Anyhow,  we  '11  see  you  through,"  he  assured  her  as 
he  went  out,  casting  a  glance  back  at  the  slim  still  figure 
in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Partly  because  he  had  not  come  sooner,  more  from 
the  shadow  left  by  this  conversation,  she  received  Ash- 
ley Mead  when  he  arrived  in  the  afternoon  with  a  dis- 
tance of  manner  and  a  petulance  which  she  was  not 
wont  to  show  towards  him.  She  had  now  neither 
thanks  for  his  labours  in  going  to  meet  Mr.  Fenning 
nor  apologies  for  her  desertion  of  him;  she  gave  no 
voice  to  the  joy  for  freedom  which  possessed  her. 
Babba  Flint  had  roused  an  uneasiness  which  demanded 
new  and  ample  evidence  of  her  power,  a  fresh  assur- 
ance that  she  was  everything  to  Ashley,  a  proof  that 
though  she  might  be  all  those  women  said  she  was, 
yet  she  was  irresistible,  conquering  and  to  conquer. 
And  her  triumph  should  not  be  won  by  borrowing 
weapons  or  tactics  from  the  enemy.  She  would  win 
with   her  own  sword,  in  her  own  way,  as  herself;    she 


234     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

had  rather  exaggerate  than  soften  what  they  blamed  in 
her;  still  she  would  achieve  her  proof  and  win  her 
battle. 

There  seemed  indeed  no  battle  to  fight,  for  Ashley 
was  very  tender  and  friendly  to  her  ;  he  appeared,  how- 
ever, a  little  depressed.  Pushing  her  experiment,  she 
began  to  talk  about  Irene  and  Alice,  and,  as  she  put  it, 
"  that  sort  of  woman." 

"  But  they  aren't  at  all  the  same  sort  of  woman,"  he 
objected,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are,  if  you  compare  them  with  me," 
she  insisted,  pursuing  the  path  which  Babba's  reflections 
had  shewn  her. 

"Well,  they've  certain  common  points  as  compared 
with  you,  perhaps,"  he  admitted. 
"They're  good  and  I'm  not." 

"You  aren't  alarmingly  bad,"  said  Ashley,  looking  at 
her.  He  was  wondering  how  she  had  come  to  marry 
Fenning. 

"  Look  at  my  life  and  theirs !  " 

"Very  different,  of  course."  They  had  never  been 
joined  in  bonds  of  union  with  Fenning. 

She  leant  forward  and  began  to  finger  the  flowers  in 
her  vase. 

"  It  would  have  been  better,"  she  said,  "  if  Jack  had 
come.  Then  you  could  have  gone  back.  I  know  you 
think  you  're  bound  not  to  go  back  now." 

He  took  no  notice  of  her  last  words,  and  asked  no 
explanation  of  what  "  going  back  "  meant. 

"  I  'd  sooner  see  you  dead  than  with  your  husband," 
he  said  quietly. 

Forgetting  the  flowers,  she  bent  forward  with  clasped 
hands.  "Would  you,  Ashley?"  she  whispered.  The 
calm  gravity  of  his  speech  was  sweet  incense  to  her. 


MORALITY   SMILES  235 

Speaking  like  that,  he  surely  meant  what  he  said ! 
"  How  could  you  help  me  to  bring  him  back,  then?" 

"  I  hadn't  quite  realised  the  sort  of  man  he  must  be." 

"  Oh  !  "  This  was  not  just  what  she  wanted  to  hear. 
"  There 's  nothing  particular  the  matter  with  him,"  she 
said. 

"  The  things  you  told  me  —  " 

"  I  daresay  I  was  unjust.  I  expect  I  exasperated  him 
terribly.    I  used  rather  to  like  him  —  really,  you  know." 

"  You  wouldn't  now,"  said  Ashley  with  a  frown.  The 
remark  seemed  to  shew  too  much  knowledge.  He 
added,  "I  mean,  would  you?" 

"Now?  Oh,  now  —  things  are  different.  I  should 
hate  it  now."  She  rose  and  stood  opposite  to  him. 
"  What 's  the  matter?  "  she  asked.  "  You  're  not  happy 
to-day.     Is  anything  wrong?  " 

He  could  not  tell  her  what  was  wrong,  how  this  man 
whom  she  had  so  unaccountably  brought  into  her  life 
seemed  first  to  have  degraded  her  and  now  to  degrade 
him.  To  tell  her  that  was  to  disclose  all  the  story.  He 
could  throw  off  neither  his  disgust  with  himself  nor  his 
discontent  with  her.  She  had  not  asked  him  to  borrow 
money  and  bribe  Jack  Fenning  to  go  away;  it  was  by 
no  will  of  hers  that  he  had  become  a  party  to  the  sordid 
little  drama  which  Hazlewood's  information  enabled  him 
to  piece  together.  All  she  saw  was  that  he  was  gloomy 
and  that  he  did  not  make  love  to  her.  He  should  have 
come  in  a  triumph  of  exultation  that  their  companion- 
ship need  not  be  broken.  Her  fears  were  ready  with  an 
explanation.  Was  Babba  Flint  right?  Was  the  com- 
panionship unnatural,  incapable  of  lasting,  bound  to  be 
broken  ?  She  looked  down  on  him,  anger  and  entreaty 
fighting  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  believe  you  're  sorry  he  didn't  come,"  she  said,  in 


236     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

a  low  voice.     "  Do  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me?     You  Ve 
only  to  say  so,  if  that 's  what  you  want." 

"  I  'm  not  sorry  he  didn't  come,"  said  Ashley,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Now  you  're  amused.     What  at?  " 

"  Oh,  the  way  things  happen  !  Among  all  the  things 
I  thought  you  might  say  to  me,  I  never  thought  of  your 
telling  me  that  I  was  sorry  he  hadn't  come."  He 
raised  his  eyes  to  hers  suddenly.  "  Do  you  know  any- 
thing about  what  he  does  out  there?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  he  never  wrote,  except  that  once.  I  don't  want 
to  know;   it  doesn't  matter  to  me." 

"One  letter  in  five  years  —  isn't  it  five? — isn't 
much." 

"  Oh,  why  should  he  write?     We  separated  for  ever." 

"But  then  he  proposed  to  come." 

"  Dear  me,  don't  be  logical,  Ashley.  You  see  he 
didn't  come.  I  suppose  he  had  a  fit  of  something 
and  wrote  then."  She  paused,  and  added  with  a 
smile,  "  Perhaps  it  occurred  to  him  that  I  used  to  be 
attractive." 

"And  then  he  forgot  again?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  Why  do  you  talk  about  him?  He  's 
gone  !  "  She  waved  her  hand  as  though  to  scatter  the 
last  mist  of  remembrance  of  Jack  Fenning. 

"  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  get  some  money  out  of  you," 
said  Ashley. 

"  You  aren't  flattering,  Ashley." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  a  man  who  does  what  I  do  may  say 
what  I  say." 

Something  in  his  words  or  tone  appealed  to  her. 
She  knelt  down  by  his  chair  and  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  You  do  all  sorts  of  things  for  me,  don't  you?  " 

"  All  sorts." 


MORALITY   SMILES  237 

"And  you  hate  a  good  many  of  them?  " 

"  Some." 

"  And  your  friends  hate  all  of  them  for  your  sake ! 
I  mean  Irene,  and  Miss  Muddock,  and  so  on.  Ashley, 
would  you  do  anything  really  bad  for  me?  " 

"  I  expect  so." 

"  I  don't  care ;  I  should  like  it.  And  when  you  'd 
done  it  I  should  like  to  go  and  tell  Alice  Muddock  all 
about  it." 

"  She  wouldn't  care."  His  voice  sounded  sincere, 
not  merely  as  though  it  gave  utterance  to  the  proper 
formal  disclaimer  of  an  unloved  lady's  interest  in  him. 
Ora  did  not  miss  the  ring  of  truth. 

"  Has  she  begun  not  to  care?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  choose  to  put  it  in  that  way,  yes,"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  You  see,  we 
go  different  ways." 

The  talk  seemed  all  of  different  ways  and  different 
sorts  to-day. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered,  drawing  a  little  back 
from  him,  but  not  rising  from  her  knees.  Ashley  was 
not  looking  at  her,  but,  resting  his  head  on  his  hands, 
gazed  straight  in  front  of  him ;  he  was  frowning  again. 
"What  are  they  saying  about  Jack  not  coming?"  she 
asked  suddenly. 

"  What  they  would,"  said  Ashley,  without  turning 
his  head.     "You  know;   I  needn't  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.      Well,  what  does  it  matter?  " 

"  Not  a  ha'penny,"  said  Ashley  Mead.  It  was  not 
what  they  said  that  troubled  him ;  what  they  said  had 
nothing  to  do  with  what  he  had  done. 

"Ashley,"  she  said,  with  an  imperative  note  in  her 
voice,  "  I  know  exactly  what  I  ought  to  do ;  I  've  read 
it  in  a  lot  of  books."     Her  smile  broke  out  for  a  mo- 


238     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

ment.  "  Most  books  are  stupid  —  at  least  the  women 
in  them  are.  I  was  stupid  before  —  before  Jack  didn't 
come,  and  I  thought  I  'd  do  it.  Well,  I  won't.  I  don't 
believe  you  'd  be  happier.  I  won't  give  you  up,  I  won't 
let  you  go." 

Ashley  turned  on  her  with  a  smile. 

"Nothing  equals  the  conceit  of  women,"  he  said. 
"  They  always  think  they  can  settle  the  thing.  What- 
ever you  say,  I  've  not  the  least  intention  of  being  given 
up."  It  crossed  his  mind  that  to  allow  himself  to  be 
given  up  now  would  be  a  remarkable  piece  of  inepti- 
tude, when  he  had  sacrificed  a  thousand  pounds,  and 
one  or  two  other  things,  in  order  to  free  himself  and  her 
from  the  necessity  of  their  renunciation. 

"  Wouldn't  you  go  if  I  told  you?  " 

"  Not  I !  " 

"Well  then,  I  've  half  a  mind  to  tell  you  !  "  Her  tone 
was  gay;  Babba  Flint's  inexplicable  convictions  and 
voiceless  philosophy  were  forgotten.  The  man  she 
loved  loved  her;  what  more  was  there  to  ask?  She 
began  to  wonder  how  she  had  strayed  from  this  simple 
and  satisfactory  point  of  view;  didn't  it  exhaust  the 
world?  It  was  not  hers  to  take  thought  for  him,  but  to 
render  herself  into  his  hands.  Not  ashamed  of  this 
weakness,  still  she  failed  to  discern  that  in  it  lay  her 
overwhelming  strength.  She  stretched  out  her  hands 
and  put  them  in  his  with  her  old  air  of  ample  self- 
surrender,  of  a  capitulation  that  was  without  condition 
because  the  conqueror's  generosity  was  known  of  all. 
"  What  are  we  worrying  about?"  she  cried  with  a  low 
merry  laugh.  "  Here  are  you,  Ashley,  and  here  am  I !  " 
And  now  she  recollected  no  more  that  this  kind  of 
conduct  was  exactly  what  seemed  horrible  to  Alice 
Muddock   and    wantonly   wicked    to    Irene   Kilnorton. 


MORALITY   SMILES  239 

In  this  mood  her  fascination  was  strongest ;  she  had  the 
power  of  making  others  forget  what  she  forgot.  Ashley 
Mead  sat  silent,  looking  at  her,  well  content  if  he  might 
have  rested  thus  for  an  indefinite  time,  with  no  need  of 
calculating,  of  deciding,  or  of  acting.  As  for  her,  so  for 
him  now,  it  was  enough.  With  a  light  laugh  she  drew 
her  hands  away  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  I  wish  I 
hadn't  got  to  go  to  the  theatre,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  We  'd  dine  somewhere  together.  Oh,  of  course  you  're 
engaged,  but  of  course  you'd  break  it.  You'd  just 
wire,  '  Going  to  dine  with  Ora  Pinsent/  and  they  'd  all 
understand.  They  couldn't  expect  you  to  refuse  that 
for  any  engagement ;  you  see,  they  know  you  're  rather 
fond  of  me.  Besides  they'd  all  do  just  the  same  them- 
selves, if  they  had  the  chance."  So  she  gave  rein  to 
her  vanity  and  her  triumph ;  they  could  not  but  please 
him  since  they  were  her  paean  over  his  love  for  her. 

Till  the  last  possible  moment  he  stayed  with  her,  driv- 
ing with  her  to  the  theatre  again  as  in  the  days  when 
the  near  prospect  of  the  renunciation  made  indiscretion 
provisional  and  unimportant.  He  would  not  see  her 
act ;  it  was  being  alone  with  her,  having  her  to  himself, 
which  was  so  sweet  that  he  could  hardly  bring  himself 
to  surrender  it.  To  see  her  as  one  of  a  crowd  had  not 
the  virtue  that  being  alone  with  her  had;  it  brought 
back,  instead  of  banishing,  what  she  had  made  him 
forget  —  the  view  of  the  world,  what  she  was  to  others, 
and  what  she  was  to  himself  so  soon  as  the  charm  of 
her  presence  was  removed.  He  left  her  at  the  door  of 
the  theatre  and  went  off  to  keep  his  dinner  engagement. 
With  her  went  the  shield  that  protected  him  from  reflex- 
ion and  saved  him  from  summing  up  the  facts  of  the 
situation. 

Morality  has  curious  and  unexpected  ways  of  justify- 


240    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

ing  itself,  even  that  somewhat  specialised  form  of 
morality  which  may  be  called  the  code  of  worldly 
honour.  This  was  Ashley  Mead's  first  reflexion.  A 
very  stern  character  is  generally  imputed  to  morality; 
people  hardly  do  justice  nowadays  to  its  sense  of 
humour;  they  understood  that  better  in  the  old  days. 
"  The  Lord  shall  have  them  in  derision."  Morality  is 
fond  of  its  laugh.  Here  was  his  second  thought,  which 
came  while  a  vivacious  young  lady  gave  him  her 
opinion  of  the  last  popular  philosophical  treatise.  To 
take  advantage  of  Mr.  Hazlewood's  carelessly  dropped 
information,  to  follow  up  the  clue  of  the  good-for- 
nothing  Foster  and  the  masterful  Daisy  Macpherson,  to 
set  spies  afoot,  to  trace  the  local  habitation  of  the 
"  little  spec,"  and  to  find  out  who  formed  the  establish- 
ment that  carried  it  on  —  all  this  would  be  no  doubt 
possible,  and  seemed  in  itself  sordid  enough,  with  its 
sequel  of  a  divorce  suit,  and  the  notoriety  of  the  pro- 
ceedings which  Miss  Pinsent's  fame  would  ensure.  Yet 
all  this  might  possibly  have  been  endured  with  set  teeth 
and  ultimately  lived  down,  if  only  it  had  chanced  that 
Mr.  Hazlewood  had  been  to  hand  with  his  very  signi- 
ficant reminiscences  before  Lord  Bowdon  and  Ashley 
Mead  had  made  up  their  minds  that  Jack  Fenning  must 
be  got  out  of  the  way,  and  that  a  thousand  pounds 
should  buy  his  departure  and  bribe  him  not  to  obtrude 
his  society  upon  the  lady  who  was  his  wife.  That  Mr. 
Hazlewood  came  after  the  arrangement  was  made  and 
after  the  bargain  struck  was  the  satiric  touch  by  which 
morality  lightened  its  grave  task  of  business-like  retri- 
bution. What,  if  any,  might  be  the  legal  effect  of  such 
a  transaction  in  the  eyes  of  the  tribunal  to  which  Miss 
Pinsent  must  be  persuaded  to  appeal,  Ashley  did  not 
pretend  to  know  and  could  not  bring  himself  seriously 


MORALITY   SMILES  241 

to  care.  The  impression  which  it  would  create  on  the 
world  when  fully  set  forth  (and  he  knew  Jack  Fenning 
too  well  to  suppose  that  it  would  not  be  declared  if  it 
suited  that  gentleman's  interest)  was  only  too  plain.  The 
world  perhaps  might  not  understand  Bowdon's  part  in 
the  affair;  probably  it  would  content  itself  with  surmises 
about  something  lying  in  the  past  and  with  accompany- 
ing sympathetic  references  to  poor  Irene  Kilnorton ;  but 
its  judgment  of  himself,  of  Jack  Fenning,  and  of  Ora 
Pinsent  was  not  doubtful.  Would  the  world  believe  that 
Ora  knew  nothing  about  the  manner  of  Jack's  coming 
and  the  manner  of  Jack's  going?  The  world  was  not 
born  yesterday !  And  about  Ashley  Mead  the  world 
would,  after  a  perfunctory  pretence  of  seeking  a  chari- 
table explanation,  confess  itself  really  unable  to  come  to 
any  other  than  one  conclusion.  The  world  would  say 
that  the  whole  thing  was  very  deplorable  but  would  not 
attempt  to  discriminate  between  the  parties.  "  Six  of 
one  and  half-a-dozen  of  the  other."  That  would  be  the 
world's  verdict,  and,  having  arrived  at  it,  it  would  await 
the  infinitely  less  important  judgment  of  the  Court  with 
a  quiet  determination  not  to  be  shaken  in  its  view  of  the 
case. 

To  pursue  a  path  that  ended  thus  was  to  incur  penal- 
ties more  degrading  and  necessities  more  repugnant 
than  could  lie  in  an  open  defiance  of  this  same  world 
with  its  sounding  censures  and  malicious  smiles.  To 
defy  was  in  a  way  respectable ;  this  would  be  to  grovel, 
and  to  grovel  with  no  better  chance  than  that  of  receiv- 
ing at  last  a  most  contemptuous  pardon.  "  Six  of  one 
and  half-a-dozen  of  the  other."  He  would  be  paired 
off  with  Jack  Fenning,  Ora  coupled  with  the  masterful 
Daisy  Macpherson.  Let  them  fight  it  out  among  them- 
selves —  while    decent   people   stood    aloof  with   their 

16 


242     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

noses  in  the  air,  their  ears  open,  and  their  lips  as  grave 
as  might  be.  Such  was  the  offer  of  peace  which  morality, 
certainly  not  serious  beyond  suspicion,  made  to  Ashley 
Mead ;  if  he  would  submit  to  this,  his  offence  touching 
that  matter  of  the  thousand  pounds  and  the  burking  of 
Mr.  Fenning's  visit  should  be  forgotten.  Better  war  to 
the  death,  thought  Ashley  Mead. 

But  what  would  Bowdon  say?  And  what  would  be 
the  cry  that  echoed  in  the  depths  of  Ora's  eyes? 

He  asked  the  question  as  he  looked  at  her  picture. 
Suddenly  with  an  oath  he  turned  away ;  there  had  come 
into  his  mind  the  recollection  of  Jack  Fenning's  ardent 
study  of  Miss  Macpherson's  face. 

Matato  nomine  de  te:  —  and  does  the  name  make  such 
a  difference? 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AT   SEA  AND   IN   PORT 

TO  Irene  Kilnorton,  occupied  with  the  matter 
against  her  will  and  in  face  of  self-contempt, 
the  non-appearance  of  Jack  Fenning  was  a  source  of 
renewed  irritation  and  uneasiness.  She  could  not  smile 
with  the  world  nor  agree  to  dispose  of  the  subject  with 
the  cynical  and  contented  observation  that  she  had 
never  supposed  the  man  would  come  and  had  her 
doubts  about  there  being  such  a  man  at  all.  Her  con- 
sideration of  it  was  bound  to  be  more  elaborate,  her 
view  more  individual.  Hence  came  the  self-contempt 
and  anger  which  afflicted  her  without  affecting  facts. 
For  the  present  indeed  Ora  was  infatuated  with  Ashley- 
Mead,  a  position  of  affairs  deplorable  on  general  grounds 
but  reassuring  on  personal ;  but  then  where  was  her 
safety,  what  security  had  she?  She  let  injustice  trick 
her  into  panic  —  with  such  as  Ora  the  infatuation  of 
Monday  afternoon  might  be  followed  by  a  new  passion 
on  Tuesday  morning.  The  mixture  of  jealousy  with 
her  moral  condemnation  caused  Irene  to  suffer  an  un- 
healthy attraction  to  the  subject;  she  could  not  help 
talking  about  it ;  she  talked  about  it  with  Bowdon  to 
his  great  discomfort.  He  was  not  a  good  dissembler ; 
he  could  respect  a  secret,  but  his  manner  was  apt  to 
betray  that  there  was  a  secret ;  he  was  restless,  impatient, 
now  and  then  almost  rude,  when  Irene  harped  on  the 


244     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

string  of  Jack  Fenning's  strange  behaviour.  Or  was  it 
not  Ora's?  Had  Ora  at  the  last  moment,  for  reasons 
unquestionably  sufficient,  countermanded  her  husband? 
Bowdon  was  pathetic  in  his  plea  of  ignorance,  but  the 
plea  did  not  ring  true.  Thus  she  was  sore  with  her 
fiance,  vexed  with  Ashley  Mead,  and  furious  against 
Ora  Pinsent.  Yet,  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  she 
was  polite  to  Ora  when  they  met,  friendly  if  severe  to 
Ashley,  and,  as  has  been  said,  interested  in  both  of  them 
with  a  reluctant  intensity. 

Any  strangeness  there  might  be  in  her  own  attitude 
was  suggested  to  her  for  the  first  time  by  the  very  dif- 
ferent behaviour  of  her  friend  Alice  Muddock.  Here 
she  found  a  definiteness  of  mind,  a  resolution,  and  a  re- 
lentlessness  which  she  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  at, 
to  shudder  at,  or  to  admire.  She  knew  what  Ashley 
had  been  to  Alice ;  she  remembered  how  in  the  begin- 
ning Alice  had  taken  a  liking  to  Ora  Pinsent.  Yet  now 
her  own  anger  could  hardly  seem  deep  or  serious  beside 
Alice's  silent  condemnation;  her  moral  disapproval, 
with  its  copious  discussion  and  its  lively  interest,  was 
mere  frippery  compared  with  her  friend's  eloquent  ig- 
noring of  the  very  existence  of  the  culprits.  Having 
dropped  in  to  talk  the  whole  thing  over,  Irene  was 
amazed  to  find  that  she  was  ashamed  to  introduce  the 
subject.  "I  suppose  I'm  not  really  moral  at  all," 
thought  Irene  with  a  moment's  insight  into  the  radical 
differences  between  her  friend  and  herself,  between  the 
talkative  shockedness  of  society  and  the  genuine 
grieved  concern  which  finds  in  silence  its  only  possible 
expression.  "  And  I  brought  Ora  here ! "  Irene  re- 
flected in  mingled  awe  and  amusement;  her  deed 
seemed  now  like  throwing  a  lighted  squib  into  a 
chapelfull   of  worshippers.     "  It 's  a  little  bit  absurd," 


AT   SEA   AND   IN  PORT  245 

was  suggested  by  her  usual  way  of  looking  at  things. 
"  Quite  proper,  though,"  added  her  jealousy  of  Ora 
Pinsent.  But  the  habitual  had  the  last  word  with  her. 
"I  suppose  the  Muddocks  were  brought  up  in  that 
way,"  she  ended. 

Alice  had  been  brought  up  in  that  way;  from  that 
way  she  had  struggled  to  escape  with  the  help  of  some 
uncertain  intellectual  lights;  but  the  lights  had  drawn 
their  flickering  radiance  from  the  flame  of  her  love  for 
Ashley  Mead.  So  long  as  she  could  she  had  believed 
the  best,  or  had  at  least  refused  to  believe  the  worst. 
But  the  lights  did  not  now  burn  brightly,  their  oil  gave 
out,  and  the  prejudices  (if  they  were  prejudices)  began 
to  gather  round,  thick  and  darkening.  A  lax  judgment 
on  a  matter  of  morals  seldom  survives  defeat  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  the  sinner.  This  fortuitous  buttressing 
of  righteousness  is  all  to  the  good.  Yet  because  she 
did  not  see  how  her  own  feelings  joined  forces  with  her 
idea  of  right,  how  the  fact  of  the  argosy  being  laden 
with  her  own  hopes  intensified  in  her  eyes  the  crime  of 
the  pirate,  Alice  Muddock  became  hard  to  the  sinners 
as  well  as  justly  severe  on  their  censurable  doings  ;  and, 
from  having  once  tried  to  understand  and  excuse  them, 
grew  more  certain  that  they  could  put  forward  no  miti- 
gating plea.  Weeks  passed  and  Ashley  Mead  was  not 
asked  to  Kensington  Palace  Gardens. 

"It's  a  little  inhuman;  she  was  fond  of  him,"  thought 
Irene.  Then  came  a  flash  of  light.  "  Bertie  Jewett !  " 
she  cried  inwardly,  and  her  lips  set  in  the  stoniness  of  a 
new  disapproval.  Much  as  Bertie  had  conciliated  her, 
the  reaction  went  too  far  for  Lady  Kilnorton's  taste. 
It  is  very  well  to  be  estimable,  but  it  is  very  ill  to  be 
estimable  and  nothing  else ;  and  she  thought  that  Bertie 
was  nothing  else,  unless  it  were  that  he  was  also  a  little 


246     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

vulgar ;  to  Bowdon  she  had  denied  this ;  to  herself  she 
admitted  it. 

Yet  she  was  very  wrong.  He  might  be  vulgar ;  he 
was  estimable;  but  he  was  much  besides;  hence  it 
happened  that  the  thing  which  seemed  to  her  so  im- 
possible was  in  a  fair  way  to  come  about.  Old  Sir 
James  was  dying,  and  stayed  his  last  tottering  steps  on 
Bertie  Jewett's  arm ;  Bob  came  home  day  by  day  to  tell 
how  all  the  business  hung  on  Bertie  Jewett;  Bob's  echo, 
Lady  Muddock,  was  of  course  in  the  same  cry;  the 
potent  influence  of  the  household,  which  so  encircles 
the  individual,  ringed  Alice  round  with  the  praises  of 
Bertie  Jewett.  She  had  no  passion  for  him,  but  now  it 
seemed  to  her  that  passions  were  of  doubtful  advantage 
and  that  she  at  least  was  not  meant  for  them ;  the  idea 
of  having  one  had  been  part  of  her  great  mistake. 
Bertie  lay  right  on  the  true  lines  of  her  life,  as  training 
and  fate — as  God,  she  said  to  herself — had  planned 
them  for  her ;  if  she  followed  them,  would  she  not  come 
to  Bertie?  All  this  was  much,  yet  not  enough  had  he 
been  only  estimable.  He  was  strong  also,  strong  to 
advance  and  strong  to  wait;  the  keenness  of  his  pale 
blue  eyes  saved  him  here  as  it  saved  him  in  the  bargains 
that  he  made.  It  shewed  him  his  hour  and  the  plan  of 
his  attack.  With  cautious  audacity  he  laid  his  siege, 
letting  his  deeds  not  his  words  speak  for  him,  trusting 
not  to  his  words  but  to  his  deeds  to  disparage  his 
rival.  The  man  had  the  instinct  for  success  —  or 
seemed  to  have  it,  because  his  desires  and  capabilities 
were  so  nicely  adjusted  and  of  such  equal  range.  He 
could  not  have  written  a  poem,  but  he  never  wanted  to. 
Ora  Pinsent  would  have  suffered  under  him  as  under  a 
long  church  service;  but  then  he  would  never  have 
tried  to  please  that  lady. 


AT   SEA   AND   IN   PORT  247 

"Do  you  really  like  him?  "  Irene  asked  Alice  as  they 
walked  in  the  garden. 

"  Yes,"  said  Alice  thoughtfully.  "  I  really  like  him 
now." 

"  Oh,  because  he  's  helpful  and  handy,  and  looks  after 
you  all !  " 

"  No,  there 's  something  more  than  that."  She 
frowned  a  little.  "  You  can  rely  on  him ;  I  don't  mean 
to  do  things  so  much  as  to  be  things  —  the  things  you 
expect,  you  know.  I  think  the  one  terrible  thing  would 
be  to  have  to  do  with  a  person  who  was  all  fits  and 
starts  ;  it  would  seem  as  though  there  was  no  real  person 
there  at  all." 

"  That 's  what  I  always  feel  about  Ora  Pinsent."  Irene 
took  courage  and  introduced  the  name  deliberately. 

"  Yes,"  Alice  assented  briefly.  Irene  had  no  doubt 
that  she  was  thinking  of  Miss  Pinsent's  friend  also,  and 
when  she  came  to  report  the  conversation  to  Bowdon 
this  aspect  of  it  took  the  foremost  place. 

"  If  she  marries  Mr.  Jewett,"  said  Irene,  "  it  '11  be  just 
in  a  recoil  from  Ashley  Mead." 

Bowdon  did  not  look  at  her  but  at  the  end  of  the 
cigarette  which  he  was  smoking  by  the  window  in 
Queen's  Gate.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding 
how  a  recoil  might  land  one  in  a  marriage ;  this  was  to 
him  trodden  ground. 

"  She  '11  be  happier  with  him,"  Irene  continued.  "  Ora 
has  quite  spoilt  Ashley  for  any  other  woman." 

Bowdon  agreed  that  Miss  Pinsent  might  very  likely 
have  some  such  effect,  but  he  expressed  the  view  quite 
carelessly. 

"  Besides,  really,  how  could  any  self-respecting  woman 
think  of  him  now,  any  more  than  any  man  could  of 
her?  " 


248     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Bowdon  made  no  answer  to  this  question,  which  was, 
after  all,  purely  rhetorical. 

"  But,  hang  it,  Jewett !  "  he  remarked  after  a  pause. 

"  I  know,"  said  Irene,  forgetting  her  former  dialecti- 
cal championship  of  Bertie.  The  matter  was  serious 
now.  "  She  needn't  have  taken  quite  such  an  extreme 
remedy;  but  he  was  on  the  spot,  you  see;  and — and 
it's  the  business.  She's  falling  right  back  into  the 
business,  over  head  and  ears  and  all.  It 's  rather  sad, 
but — "  It  seemed  as  though  she  meant  that  it  was 
better  than  linking  fortunes  with  a  being  all  fits  and 
starts.  She  rose  and  came  near  him.  "  I  think  we  're 
just  about  right,  you  and  I,  Frank,"  she  said.  "  We 
aren't  Jewetts  and  we  aren't  Oras.  I  think  we  're  the 
happy  compromise." 

"  You  are,  no  doubt,  my  dear.  I  'm  a  dull  dog,"  said 
Bowdon. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  and  turned  away  with 
a  little  sigh.  The  marriage  was  very  near ;  was  the  work 
yet  fully  done,  or  had  fits  and  starts  still  their  power  over 
him  and  their  attraction  for  him?  He  made  a  remark 
the  next  moment  which  vexed  her  intensely. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  he  said  with  a  thoughtful  smile, 
"I  expect  we  seem  to  Miss  Pinsent  just  what  Jewett 
seems  to  us." 

Irene  walked  away  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  I  seem  to  Ora  Pinsent," 
she  said  very  coldly ;  but  Bowdon  smoked  on  in  pensive 
silence. 

At  this  time  both  the  triumph  and  the  activity  of 
Babba  Flint  were  great.  He  was  divided  between  the 
masterpiece  of  dramatic  writing  at  whose  birth  he  was 
assisting,  and  the  masterpiece  of  prescience  which  he 


AT   SEA   AND    IN   PORT  249 

had  himself  displayed  touching  the  matter  of  Mr. 
Fenning's  return.  When  he  contemplated  these  two 
achievements  (and  he  took  almost  as  much  personal 
credit  for  the  first  as  for  the  second)  he  said  openly 
that  he  ought  to  find  excuse  for  being  "  a  bit  above 
himself."  It  was  no  use  to  tell  him  that  he  was  not 
writing  the  play,  and  neither  of  the  men  who  knew 
chose  to  tell  him  that  he  had  been  wrong  in  regard  to 
Jack  Fenning.  Thus  left  to  a  blessed  self-conceit,  he 
obtruded  on  Ashley  Mead  certain  advice  which  was 
received  with  a  curious  bitter   amusement. 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  'd  find  out  something  about  the 
fellow,"  he  said.  "I  mean — why  didn't  he  come?" 
He  looked  very  sly.     "  Cherchez  la  femrne"  he  added. 

"  And  if  I  found  her?"  asked  Ashley. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  best  about  that,"  said  Babba. 
He  conceded  that  it  was  entirely  for  Ashley  to  say 
whether  he  would  greet  a  chance  of  establishing  his 
relations  with  Ora  on  a  regular  and  respectable  basis. 
"  But,  depend  on  it,  she  's  there,"  he  added,  waving  his 
hand  in  the  supposed  direction  of  the  United  States. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all,"  Ashley  remarked,  his 
recollection  fixed  on  Miss  Macpherson's  portrait. 

"Now  if  we  all  go  over  in  the  winter  — "  began 
Babba. 

"  You  all?     Who  do  you  mean?  " 

"Why,  if  we  take  the  play.  Have  I  told  you 
about—?" 

"  Oh,  Lord,  yes,  Babba,  twenty  times.  But  I  'd  for- 
gotten." 

"Well,  if  Hazlewood  and  Miss  Pinsent  and  I  go  — 
we  can't  ask  you,  I'm  afraid,  you  know  —  we  can  nose 
about  a  bit." 

Ashley  looked  at  him  with  a  helpless  smile;  the  pic- 


250     A   SERVANT   OF  THE   PUBLIC 

ture  conjured  up  by  his  expression  lacked  no  repulsive 
feature.  Here  was  a  hideously  apt  summary  of  the 
prospect  which  had  been  in  his  own  thoughts;  if  he 
followed  the  clue,  he  must  nose  about  or  get  somebody 
to  nose  about  for  him. 

"Shut  up,  Babba,"  he  commanded,  rudely  enough; 
but  Babba  smiled  and  told  him  to  think  it  over.  Babba 
did  not  recognise  any  defect  in  the  manner  of  offering 
his  services  or  anything  objectionable  in  the  substance 
of  them.  He  had  flung  open  a  door;  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  guarantee  the  cleanliness  of  the  threshold, 
since  he  had  not  a  very  fine  eye  with  which  to  guide 
the  broom. 

Whatever  Ashley  might  think  about  the  oppor- 
tunities supposed  to  be  afforded  by  the  suggested 
excursion  to  America,  he  could  not  avoid  giving  con- 
sideration to  the  tour  itself.  The  London  season  drew 
to  a  close ;  Mr.  Hazlewood  wanted  to  make  his  plans ; 
Babba  and  his  associates  were  urgent  for  a  Yes  or  a  No. 
If  Ora  said  Yes,  after  a  brief  rest  she  would  set  to  work 
at  rehearsals  and  in  a  few  weeks  cross  the  seas ;  if  she 
said  No,  she  had  the  prospect  of  a  long  holiday,  to  be 
spent  how  she  would,  where  she  would,  with  whom 
she  would.  This  position  of  affairs  raised  the  great 
question  in  a  concrete  and  urgent  form ;  it  pressed 
itself  on  Ashley  Mead;  he  began  to  wonder  when  it 
would  make  an  impression  on  Ora.  For  up  to  the 
present  time  she  did  not  seem  to  have  looked  ahead ; 
she  had  fallen  back  into  the  state  of  irresponsible 
happiness  from  which  her  husband's  letter  had  roused 
her.  She  considered  the  tour  with  interest  and  even 
eagerness,  but  without  bringing  it  into  relation  with 
Ashley  Mead  ;  in  other  moments  she  talked  rapturously 
about  the  delights  of  a  holiday,  but  either  ignored  or 


AT   SEA  AND   IN   PORT  251 

tacitly  presupposed  the  manner  and  the  company  in 
which  she  was  to  spend  it.  She  never  referred  to  her 
husband ;  she  had,  and  apparently  expected  to  have, 
no  letter  from  him.  He  was  gone;  Ora  seemed  as 
unconscious  of  the  problem  to  which  his  disappearance 
gave  rise  as  she  was  ignorant  of  the  means  by  which 
the  disappearance  had  been  brought  about.  She  had 
left  to  Ashley  the  decision  as  to  whether  she  should  or 
should  not  undertake  the  renunciation  and  reformation ; 
so  she  appeared  to  leave  it  to  him  now  to  make  up 
his  mind  what  must  be  done  since  the  reformation  had 
become  impossible  and  the  renunciation  of  no  effect. 
Meanwhile  she  was  delightfully  happy. 

It  was  this  unmeditated  joy  in  her  which  made  it  at 
once  impossible  for  Ashley  to  leave  her  and  impossible 
to  shape  plans  by  which  he  should  be  enabled  to  stay 
with  her.  To  do  either  was  to  spoil  what  he  had,  was 
to  soil  a  simple  perfection,  was  to  run  up  against  the 
world,  against  the  world's  severe  cold  Alice  Muddocks 
with  their  scorn  of  emotions,  and  its  Babba  Flints  with 
their  intolerable  manoeuvres  and  hints  of  profitable 
nosings.  That  a  choice  of  courses  should  be  forced 
on  him  became  irksome.  Things  were  very  well  as 
they  were  ;  she  was  happy,  he  was  happy,  Jack  Fenning 
was  gone,  and — well,  some  day  he  would  pay  Lord 
Bowdon  a  thousand  pounds. 

He  was  in  this  mood  when  the  American  tour  faced 
him  with  its  peremptory  summons,  with  its  business- 
like calculations  of  profit,  its  romantic  involving  of 
despair,  its  abominable  possibilities  of  nosing.  Babba 
spoke  of  it  to  him,  so  did  Mr.  Hazlewood,  both  with  an 
air  of  curiosity;  Ora  herself  speculated  about  it  more 
and  more,  sometimes  in  her  artistic,  sometimes  in  her 
financial,  sometimes  in   her  fatalistic   mood.     She  was 


252     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

strange  about  it;  now  she  would  talk  as  though  he 
were  to  be  with  her,  again  as  if  he  were  to  be  at  work 
here  at  home  and  his  letters  her  only  comfort.  She 
never  faced  facts ;  she  did  not  even  look  at  them  from 
the  corner  of  an  eye,  over  the  shoulder. 

"  Shall  I  go  or  not?"  she  would  ask  him,  as  though  it 
were  a  question  between  keeping  some  trivial  engage- 
ment and  breaking  it  for  a  pleasanter.  "Now,  shall  I 
go,  Ashley  dear?" 

Had  she  no  notion  of  what  things  meant?  Away 
from  her  he  often  asked  this  question;  when  he  was 
with  her,  it  died  away  on  his  lips.  Then  he  declared 
that,  if  he  could  so  cheat  necessity  and  beguile  the 
inevitable  from  its  path,  she  should  never  know  what 
things  meant,  never  take  a  hard  reckoning  with  the 
world,  never  be  forced  to  assess  herself.  She  had  for- 
gotten what  Irene  and  what  Alice  had  said  to  her,  or 
had  persuaded  herself  that  they  spoke  for  form's  sake, 
or  in  jealousy,  or  in  ignorance,  or  because  their  clergy- 
man had  such  influence  over  them,  or  for  some  such 
cause.  She  was  now  as  simply  unreasoning  as  she  was 
simply  happy ;  she  was  altogether  at  his  disposal,  ready 
to  go  or  stay,  to  do  what  he  ordered,  even  (as  he  knew) 
to  leave  him  in  tears  and  sorrow,  if  that  were  his  will. 
She  left  it  all  to  him ;  and,  having  it  all  left  to  him,  he 
left  it  to  Mr.  Hazlewood,  to  Babba  Flint,  or  to  any 
other  superficially  inadequate  embodiment  in  which  the 
Necessary  chose  to  clothe  itself. 

But  Bowdon's  thousand  pounds?  Such  a  man  as 
Ashley  —  or  as  his  creditor  —  will  be  careless  of  all 
things  in  earth  or  heaven  save  a  woman's  secret,  his 
given  word,  the  etiquette  of  his  profession,  and  a  debt 
of  honour.  The  thousand  pounds  was  in  the  fullest 
sense  a  debt  of  honour.     He  had  not  a  thousand  pounds. 


AT   SEA   AND    IN   PORT  253 

To  save  was  impossible  while  Orawent  everywhere  with 
him.  Money  to  her  was  like  manna  and  seemed  to 
entail  the  same  obligation  that  none  of  the  day's  bounty 
should  be  left  to  the  next  morning.  Ashley  was  hard- 
up ;  the  prosaic  fact  shot  across  his  mental  embarrass- 
ments in  a  humorous  streak.  He  laughed  at  it,  at 
himself  when  he  bought  Ora  bouquets  or  the  last  fancy 
in  blotting-pads,  at  her  when  she  asked  him  for  a  sover- 
eign, because  she  had  no  place  convenient  for  the  carry- 
ing of  a  purse.  At  a  word  she  would  have  repaid,  and 
besides  flung  all  she  had  into  his  hands.  But  that  word 
he  would  not  speak.  The  Commission  drew  near  to 
its  close ;  brief  bred  brief  but  slowly ;  and  as  long  as  he 
owed  Bowdon  a  thousand  pounds  he  seemed  to  himself 
more  than  criminal.  But  did  he  owe  it?  Yes,  a  thou- 
sand times.  For  if  he  did  not,  then  Bowdon  was  some- 
thing more  to  Ora  Pinsent  than  a  chance  acquaintance 
or  a  friend's  fiance.  He  acknowledged  the  hearty  good 
comradeship  which  had  shewn  itself  in  the  loan;  but  it 
had  been  a  loan ;  only  by  repaying  it  could  he  appro- 
priate the  service  to  himself  and  remove  another's 
offering  from  the  shrine  at  which  he  worshipped. 

Matters  standing  in  this  position,  time,  with  its  usual 
disregard  of  the  state  of  our  private  affairs,  brought  on 
the  wedding  of  Irene  Kilnorton  and  Lord  Bowdon. 
Irene  had  found  no  sufficient  reason  for  objecting  to  Ash- 
ley's presence.  Logic  then  demanded  that  an  invitation 
should  be  sent  to  Miss  Pinsent.  As  it  chanced,  it 
pleased  Ora  to  come  in  conspicuous  fashion,  in  a  gown 
which  the  papers  were  bound  to  notice,  in  a  hat  of 
mark,  rather  late,  full  of  exuberant  sympathy  with  the 
performance.  She  arrived  only  a  minute  before  the 
bride,  while  Bowdon  and  Ashley  Mead  stood  side  by 
side  close  to  the  altar-rails.     Both  saw  her  the  moment 


254     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

she  came  in,  both  looked  at  her,  neither  made  any 
comment  on  her  appearance.  As  soon  as  the  proces- 
sion entered  she  made  an  effort  to  relapse  into  decorous 
obscurity,  but,  willy-nilly,  she  halved  attention  with 
the  proper  heroine  of  the  day.  A  wedding  affected 
Ora  ;  the  ready  tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  the  solemn 
confident  vows  were  spoken.  Ashley  almost  laughed 
as  he  listened  to  Bowdon's;  he  had  a  sudden  sense 
that  it  would  be  rather  absurd  if  Ora  and  he  took  such 
vows ;  he  had  a  distinct  knowledge  that  the  woman  of 
whom  he  himself  thought  was  in  the  minds  of  bride  and 
bridegroom  also.  He  glanced  at  her,  she  smiled  at  him 
with  her  innocent  disregard  of  appearances.  He  looked 
the  other  way  and  found  Alice  Muddock  with  eyes  firm 
set  on  her  prayer-book.  The  officiating  minister  de- 
livered a  little  discourse,  one  of  his  own  writing,  in  lieu 
of  the  homily.  Looking  again,  Ashley  found  Alice's 
eyes  on  the  minister  with  a  grave  meditative  gaze,  as 
though  she  weighed  his  words  and  assessed  the  duties 
and  the  difficulties  they  set  forth ;  but  Ora  was  glancing 
round  the  church,  finding  acquaintances.  When  the 
ceremony  ended  and  they  had  come  out  of  the  vestry, 
he  walked  past  Ora  in  the  wake  of  the  procession.  Ora 
smiled  in  a  comprehending,  rather  compassionate  way ; 
her  emotion  was  quite  gone.  Now  she  seemed  to  bid 
him  take  the  ceremony  for  what  it  was  worth.  He  had 
watched  to  see  whether  Bowdon  looked  at  her;  Bowdon 
had  not  looked.  That  was  because  the  ceremony  had 
seemed  of  importance  to  him.  Ashley  broke  into  a 
smile;  it  would  have  been  more  encouraging,  if  also 
more  commonplace,  had  Ora's  tears  not  been  so  obvi- 
ously merely  a  tribute  to  the  literary  gifts  of  the  com- 
posers of  the  service. 

At  the  reception  afterwards  —  it  was  quiet  and  small 


AT   SEA   AND   IN   PORT  255 

—  one  thing  happened  which  seemed  to  have  a  queer 
significance.  He  found  Ora,  and  took  her  round  the 
rooms.  As  they  made  their  circuit  they  came  on  Alice 
Muddock;  she  was  talking  to  Bertie  Jewett.  She 
looked  up,  bowed  to  Ashley,  and  smiled ;  she  took  no 
notice  at  all  of  Ora  Pinsent.  Ashley  felt  himself  turn 
red,  and  his  lips  shaped  themselves  into  angry  words ; 
he  turned  to  Ora.  Ora  was  looking  the  other  way. 
She  had  been  cut;  but  she  had  not  seen  it;  she  had 
not  noticed  Alice  Muddock.  But  Ashley  understood 
that  the  two  women  had  parted  asunder,  that  to  be 
the  friend  of  one  was  in  future  not  to  be  a  friend  to  the 
other. 

It  was  a  queer  moment  also  when  Ora,  full  again  of 
overflowing  emotions,  flung  herself  on  Irene's  breast, 
kissed  her,  blessed  her,  praised  her,  prayed  for  her, 
laughed  at  her,  lauded  her  gown,  and  told  her  that  she 
had  never  looked  better  in  her  life.  Irene  laughed  and 
returned  the  kiss;  then  she  looked  at  her  husband, 
next  at  Ashley,  lastly  at  Ora  Pinsent.  There  was  a 
moment  of  silent  embarrassment  in  all  the  three ;  Ora 
glanced  round  at  them  and  broke  into  her  low  laugh. 

"Why,  what  have  I  done  to  you  all?"  she  cried. 
"Have  I  hypnotised  you  all?" 

Bowdon  raised  his  eyes,  let  them  rest  on  her  a 
moment,  then  turned  to  Ashley  Mead.  The  two  women 
began  to  talk  again.  For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood 
looking  at  one  another.  They  had  their  secret.  Each 
telegraphed  to  the  other,  "  Not  a  word  about  the  thou- 
sand !  "  Then  they  shook  hands  heartily.  Ora  and 
Ashley  passed  on.  For  a  moment  Bowdon  looked  after 
them.  Then  he  turned  to  his  bride  and  found  her  eyes 
on  him.  He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it.  Her  eyes 
were  bright  as  she  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  before 


256     A    SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

a  new  friend  claimed  her  notice.  As  she  greeted  the 
friend,  Bowdon  gave  a  little  sigh. 

He  was  in  port !  But  the  laughing,  dancing,  buffet- 
ing, dangerous  waves  are  also  sweet. 

"  I  'm  glad  I  went,"  said  Ora,  as  Ashley  handed  her 
into  her  victoria.  She  laughed  as  she  lay  back  on  the 
cushions. 

"  It  was  so  funny  at  my  wedding,"  she  said.  "Jack 
lost  the  ring."  She  waved  her  hand  merrily  as  she  was 
driven  away. 

"  Come  soon,"  she  cried  over  her  shoulder. 

He  waved  his  hand  in  response  and  turned  to  go 
back  into  the  house.  In  his  path  stood  Bertie  Jewett. 
For  an  instant  Ashley  stood  still. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  about  over,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"Just  about.  I  must  get  back  to  the  shop,"  said 
Bertie,  looking  at  his  watch.  But  he  did  not  move. 
Ashley,  glancing  beyond  him,  saw  Alice  Muddock 
coming  towards  the  door. 

"  So  must  I,"  he  said,  clapping  on  his  hat  and  hailing 
a  hansom.     He  jumped  in  and  was  carried  away. 

One  of  Bowdon's  servants  brought  his  walking-stick 
to  his  rooms  the  next  day.  He  had  forgotten  it  in  a 
passing  recollection  of  old  days,  when  Alice  and  he 
used  to  laugh  together  over  the  manoeuvres  by  which 
they  got  rid  of  Bertie  Jewett. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE   PLAY  AND   THE   PART 

BABBA  Flint's  dramatic  masterpiece  progressed  and 
took  shape  rapidly.  "The  beggar's  got  at  it 
at  last,"  Babba  said,  in  one  of  his  infrequent  references 
to  the  author.  Mr.  Hazlewood  did  not  talk  much,  but 
was  plainly  of  opinion  that  there  might  be  a  great  deal 
of  money  made.  Ora  was  enthusiastic.  She  had  seen 
the  scenario  and  had  read  the  first  draft  of  the  great 
scene  in  the  third  act.  The  author  had  declared  his 
conviction  that  no  woman  save  Ora  could  play  this 
scene ;  Ora  was  certain  that  it  would  be  intolerable  to 
her  that  any  other  woman  should.  She  did  not  then 
and  there  make  up  her  mind  to  play  it,  but  it  began  to 
be  certain  that  she  would  play  it  and  would  accept 
such  arrangements  of  her  life  and  her  time  as  made  her 
playing  of  it  possible.  In  this  way  things,  when  sug- 
gested or  proposed,  slid  into  actual  facts  with  her; 
they  grew  insensibly,  as  acquaintances  grow;  she  found 
herself  committed  to  them  without  any  conscious  act  of 
decision.  "  Let  her  alone,  she  '11  do  it,"  said  Hazle- 
wood to  Babba,  and  Babba  did  no  more  than  throw  out, 
on  the  one  side,  conjectures  as  to  the  talent  which 
certain  ladies  whom  he  named  might  display  in  the  role, 
and,  on  the  other,  forecasts  of  the  sure  triumph  which 
would  await  Ora  herself.  Finally  he  added  that  Ora 
had  better  see  the  whole  piece  before  she  arrived  at  a 

17 


258     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

conclusion.  Hazlewood  approved  and  seconded  these 
indirect  but  skilful  tactics.  With  every  such  discussion 
the  play  and  the  part  made  their  footing  more  and 
more  secure  in  Ora's  mind.  She  began  to  talk  as 
though,  in  the  absence  of  unforeseen  circumstances,  she 
would  be  "  opening"  in  New  York  with  the  play  and 
the  part  in  October;  when  she  spoke  thus  to  Ashley 
Mead,  the  old  look  of  vague  questioning  was  in  her 
eyes ;  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  old  look  of  ap- 
prehension or  appeal  were  there  also,  as  though  she 
were  a  little  afraid  that  he  would  forbid  her  to  go  and 
prevent  her  from  playing  the  part.  But  in  this  look 
lay  the  only  reference  that  she  made  to  her  present 
position,  and  her  only  admission  that  it  held  any  diffi- 
culties. His  answer  to  it  was  to  talk  to  her  about  the 
play  and  the  part;  this  he  could  not  do  without  the 
implied  assumption  that  she  would  act  the  part  in 
the  play,  would  act  it  with  Sidney  Hazlewood,  and 
would  act  it  in  America  in  October. 

What  these  things  that  were  gradually  insinuating 
themselves  into  the  status  of  established  facts  meant  to 
him  he  began  to  see.  For  the  play  was  nothing  to 
him,  he  had  no  share  in  the  venture,  and  certainly  he 
could  not  tour  about  the  United  States  of  America  as  a 
superfluous  appendage  to  Mr.  Hazlewood's  theatrical 
company.  The  result  was  that  she  would  go  away 
from  him,  and  that  the  interval  before  she  went  grew 
short.  Up  to  the  present  time  there  was  no  change  in 
their  relations;  as  they  had  been  before  the  coming  and 
going  of  Jack  Fenning,  they  were  still.  But  such  rela- 
tions must  in  the  end  go  forward  or  backward ;  had  he 
chosen,  he  knew  that  they  would  have  gone  forward ; 
more  plainly  than  in  words  she  had  left  that  to  him ; 
but  he  had  left  the  decision  to  the  course  of  events,  and 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     259 

that  arbiter  was  deciding  that  the  relations  should  go 
backward.  She  loved  him  still,  tenderly  always,  some- 
times passionately;  but  the  phase  of  feeling  in  which 
her  love  had  been  the  only  thing  in  the  world  for  her 
was  passing  away,  as  the  counter-attraction  of  the  play 
and  the  part  increased  in  strength.  The  rest  of  her 
life,  which  love's  lullaby  had  put  to  sleep,  was  awaking 
again.  In  him  a  resignation  mingled  with  the  misery 
brought  by  his  recognition  of  this ;  unless  he  could 
resort  to  the  "  nosings  "  which  Babba  Flint  suggested, 
he  would  lose  her,  she  would  drift  away  from  him ;  he 
felt  deadened  at  the  prospect  but  was  not  nerved  to 
resist  it.  He  was  paralysed  by  an  underlying  con- 
sciousness that  this  process  was  inevitable ;  the  look  in 
her  eyes  confirmed  the  feeling  in  him;  now  she  seemed 
to  look  at  him,  even  while  she  caressed  him,  from  across 
a  distance  which  lay  between  them.  His  encounter 
with  Bertie  Jewett  after  the  wedding  had  been  the  inci- 
dent which  made  him  understand  how  he  had  passed 
out  of  Alice  Muddock's  life,  and  she  out  of  his,  his 
place  in  hers  being  filled  by  another,  hers  in  his  left 
empty.  The  fatalism  of  his  resignation  accepted  a  like 
ending  for  himself  and  Ora  Pinsent.  Presently  she 
would  be  gone;  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  weld  into 
one  lives  irrevocably  disassociated  by  the  tendency  of 
things.  This  was  the  conclusion  which  forced  itself 
upon  him,  when  he  perceived  that  she  would  certainly 
act  in  the  play  and  certainly  go  to  America  in  the 
autumn. 

The  mists  of  love  conceal  life's  landscape,  wrapping 
all  its  features  in  a  glowing  haze.  Presently  the  soft 
clouds  lift,  and  little  by  little  the  scene  comes  back 
again ;  once  more  the  old  long  roads  stretch  out,  the 
quiet  valleys  spread,  the  peaks  raise  their  heads ;   the 


260     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

traveller  shoulders  his  knapsack  and  starts  again  on  his 
path.  He  has  lingered;  here  now  are  the  roads  to 
traverse  and  the  peaks  to  climb  ;  here  is  reality ;  where 
is  that  which  was  the  sole  reality?  But  at  first  the  way 
seems  very  long,  the  sack  is  very  heavy,  and  the  peaks 
—  are  they  worth  the  climbing? 

"What's  the  matter,  Ashley?  You're  glum,"  she 
said  one  day,  after  she  had  been  describing  to  him  the 
finest  situation  in  the  finest  part  in  the  finest  play  that 
had  ever  been  written.  It  was  a  week  before  her  theatre 
was  to  close  and  before  a  decision  as  to  plans  for  the 
future  must  be  wrung  from  her  by  the  pressure  of 
necessity. 

The  thought  of  how  he  stood  had  been  so  much  with 
him  that  suddenly,  almost  without  intention,  he  gave 
voice  to  it.  She  charmed  him  that  day  and  he  felt  as 
though  the  inevitable  must  not  and  somehow  could  not 
happen,  as  though  some  paradox  in  the  realm  of  fact 
would  rescue  him,  as  a  witty  saying  redeems  a  conver- 
sation which  has  become  to  all  appearance  dull  beyond 
hope  of  revival. 

"  I  'm  losing  you,  Ora,"  he  said  slowly  and  deliber- 
ately, fixing  his  eyes  on  her.  "You'll  take  this  play; 
you'll  go  to  America;  you're  thinking  more  about 
that  than  anything  else  now." 

A  great  change  came  on  her  face;  he  rose  quickly 
and  went  to  her. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything 
of  that  sort  to  you,"  he  whispered  as  he  bent  over  her. 
"  It's  quite  natural,  it's  all  as  it  should  be.  Good  God, 
you  don't  think  I  'm  reproaching  you  ?  "  He  bent  lower 
still,  meaning  to  kiss  her.  She  caught  him  by  the  arms 
and  held  him  there,  so  that  he  could  come  no  nearer 
and  yet  could  not  draw  back;    she  searched  his  face, 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     261 

then  dropped  her  hands  and  lay  back,  looking  up  at 
him  with  quivering  lips  and  eyes  already  full  of  tears. 
Blind  to  his  feelings  as  she  had  been,  yet  her  quickness 
shewed  them  all  to  her  at  his  first  hint,  and  she  magni- 
fied his  accusation  till  it  grew  into  the  bitterest  condem- 
nation of  her. 

"  You  've  given  simply  everything  for  me,"  she  said, 
speaking  slowly  as  he  had.  "  I  don't  know  all  you  've 
done  for  me,  but  I  know  it 's  a  great  deal.  I  told  you 
what  Alice  Muddock  said  I  was  ;  you  remember?"  She 
sprang  to  her  feet  suddenly  and  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck;  "I  love  you,"  she  whispered  to  him;  it  was 
apology,  protest,  consolation,  all  in  one.  "  Ashley,  what 
do  I  care  about  the  wretched  play?  Only  I  —  I  thought 
you  were  interested  in  it  too.  How  lovely  it  would  be 
if  we  could  act  it  together  !  "  Her  smile  dawned  on  her 
lips.  "  Only  you  'd  be  rather  funny  acting,  wouldn't 
you?"  she  ended  with  a  joyous  little  laugh. 

Ashley  laughed  too ;  he  thought  that  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  funny  acting;  yet  he  was  sure  that  if  he  could 
have  acted  with  her  he  need  not  have  lost  her. 

"  But  I  think  I  liked  you  first  because  you  were  so 
different  from  all  of  them  at  the  theatre,"  she  went  on, 
knitting  her  brows  in  a  puzzled  frown.  He  might  have 
recollected  that  Alice  Muddock  had  liked  him  because 
he  was  so  different  from  all  of  them  in  Buckingham 
Palace  Road.  Well,  Alice  had  turned  again  to  Buck- 
ingham Palace  Road,  and  Bertie  Jewett's  star  was  in  the 
ascendant.  "  I  should  hate  to  have  you  act,"  she  said, 
darting  her  hand  out  and  clasping  his. 

They  sat  silent  for  some  moments ;  Ora's  fingers 
pressed  his  in  a  friendly  understanding  fashion. 

"There's  nobody  in  the  world  like  you,"  she  said. 
He  smiled  at  the  praise,  since  his  reward  was  to  be  to 


262     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

lose  her.  Things  would  have  their  way,  and  he  would 
lose  her.  As  Alice  back  to  the  business,  as  Bowdon 
back  to  a  suitable  alliance,  so  she  back  to  her  theatre. 
As  for  himself,  he  happened  to  have  nothing  to  go  back 
to  ;   somewhat  absurdly,  he  was  glad  of  it. 

"All  sorts  of  stupid  people  are  quite  happy,"  Ora 
reflected  dolefully.  "  Everything  seems  to  be  arranged 
so  comfortably  for  them.  It 's  not  only  that  I  married 
Jack,  you  know." 

She  was  right  there,  although  she  rather  underrated 
the  importance  of  the  action  she  mentioned.  Even 
without  Jack  there  would  have  been  difficulties.  But 
her  remark  brought  Jack,  his  associations  and  his  asso- 
ciates, back  into  Ashley  Mead's  mind.  "  Perhaps  I  shall 
run  across  Jack  in  America,"  she  added  a  moment  later. 

It  was  indeed  not  only  Jack,  but  it  was  largely  Jack. 
Jack,  although  he  was  not  all,  seemed  to  embody  and 
personify  all.  Ashley's  love  for  her  was  again  faced 
and  confronted  with  his  distaste  for  everything  about 
her.  Herself  he  could  see  only  with  his  own  eyes,  but 
her  surroundings  he  saw  clearly  enough  through  the 
eyes  of  a  world  which  did  not  truly  know  her  —  the 
world  of  Irene  Bowdon,  almost  the  world  of  Alice  Mud- 
dock.  Could  he  then  take  her  from  her  surroundings? 
That  could  be  done  at  a  price  to  him  definite  though 
high;  but  what  would  be  the  price  to  her?  The  an- 
swer came  in  unhesitating  tones  ;  he  would  be  taking 
from  her  the  only  life  that  was  hers  to  live.  Then  he 
must  tell  her  that?  He  almost  laughed  at  the  idea;  he 
knew  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  endure  for  a  second 
the  pain  there  would  be  in  her  eyes.  To  wrench  himself 
away  from  her  would  torture  her  too  sorely;  let  her 
grow  away  from  him  and  awake  some  day  to  find  her- 
self content  without  him. 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     263 

"And  what  a  fool  all  my  friends  would  think  me!" 
he  reflected.  But  the  reflexion  did  not  weigh  with  him ; 
he  had  protected  her  life  from  the  incursion  of  Jack 
Fenning,  he  would  protect  it  from  his  own  tyranny. 
He  leant  forward  towards  her  and  spoke  to  her  softly. 

"  Take  the  play,  Ora,"  he  said ;  "  take  the  part,  go  to 
America,  and  become  still  more  famous.  That 's  what 
you  can  do  and  what  you  ought  to  do." 

"And  you?     Will  you  come  with  me?" 

"Why  no,"  he  said,  smiling.  "I  must  stay  and  roll 
my  little  stone  here.  Yours  is  a  big  stone  and  mine 
only  a  little  one,  but  still  I  must  roll  my  own." 

"  But  I  shall  be  away  months." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  long  months.    But  I  won't  forget  you." 

"You  won't  really?  I  should  die  if  you  forgot  me, 
Ashley.  If  I  go  I  shall  think  of  you  every  hour.  Oh, 
but  I  'm  afraid  to  go  !     I  know  you  '11  forget  me." 

He  had  but  little  doubt  that  the  forgetfulness  would 
come,  and  that  it  would  not  come  first  from  him.  She 
had  no  inkling  of  the  idea  that  she  could  herself  cease 
to  feel  for  him  all  that  she  felt  now.  She  extracted 
from  him  vows  of  constancy  and  revelled  in  the  ampli- 
tude of  his  promises.  Presently  her  mind  overleapt  the 
months  of  absence,  saw  in  them  nothing  but  a  series  of 
triumphs  which  would  make  him  more  proud  of  her, 
and  a  prospect  of  meeting  him  again  growing  ever 
nearer  and  nearer  and  sweetening  her  success  with  the 
approaching  joy  of  sharing  it  all  with  him  and  telling 
him  all  about  it.  Anything  became  sweet,  shared  with 
him  ;  witness  the  renunciation  ! 

"  If  I  hadn't  you,  I  shouldn't  care  a  bit  about  the 
rest  of  it,"  she  said.  "  But  somehow  having  you  makes 
me  want  all  the  rest  more.  I  wonder  if  all  women  are 
like  that  when  they  're  as  much  in  love  as  I  am." 


264     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Ashley  knew  that  all  women  were  by  no  means  like 
that,  but  he  said  that  he  suspected  they  were,  and 
assured  Ora  that  the  state  of  feeling  she  described  was 
entirely  consistent  with  a  great  and  permanent  love. 
As,  before,  his  one  object  had  been  to  support  her 
through  the  renunciation,  to  make  it  easy  and  possible 
for  her,  so  now  he  found  himself  bending  his  energies 
and  exerting  his  ingenuity  to  persuading  her  that  there 
was  no  incompatibility  between  her  love  and  her  life, 
between  her  ambition  and  her  passion,  between  him  and 
the  masterpiece  for  whose  sake  she  was  to  leave  him. 
He  had  seen  her  once  in  despair  about  herself  and 
dared  not  encounter  a  second  time  the  pain  which  that 
sight  of  her  had  given  him  ;  he  himself  might  know  the 
truth  of  what  she  was  and  the  outcome  of  what  she  did ; 
he  determined  that,  so  far  as  he  could  contrive  and  con- 
trol the  matter,  she  should  not  know  it.  She  should  go 
and  win  her  triumph,  she  should  go  in  the  sure  hope 
that  he  would  not  change,  in  the  confidence  that  she 
would  not,  that  their  friendship  would  not,  that  nothing 
would.  Then  she  would  dry  her  tears,  or  weep  only  in 
natural  sorrow  and  with  no  bitterness  of  self-accusation. 
It  seemed  worth  while  to  him  to  embark  again  on 
oceans  of  pretence  for  her  sake,  just  as  it  had  seemed 
worth  while  to  pretend  to  believe  in  the  renunciation, 
and  worth  while  to  break  his  code  by  bribing  Jack 
Fenning  with  a  borrowed  thousand  pounds. 

At  this  time  a  second  stroke  fell  on  old  Sir  James 
Muddock ;  worn  out  with  work  and  money-making,  he 
had  no  power  to  resist.  The  end  came  swiftly.  It  was 
announced  to  Ashley  in  a  letter  from  Bertie  Jewett. 
Lady  Muddock  was  prostrate,  Bob  and  Alice  over- 
whelmed with  duties.  Bertie  begged  that  his  letter 
might   be   regarded    as   coming   from   the    family;    he 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     265 

shewed  consideration  in  the  way  he  put  this  request  and 
assumed  his  position  with  delicacy.  Ashley  read  with  a 
wry  smile,  not  blaming  the  writer  but  wondering  scorn- 
fully at  the  turn  of  affairs.  The  old  man  had  once 
been  almost  a  father  to  him,  the  children  near  as 
brother  and  sister;  now  Bertie  announced  the  old  man's 
death  and  the  children  pleaded  that  they  were  too 
occupied  to  find  time  to  write  to  him.  He  went  to  the 
funeral;  through  it  all  his  sense  of  being  outside,  of 
having  been  put  outside,  persisted,  sharing  his  mind 
with  genuine  grief.  From  whatever  cause  it  comes  that 
a  man  has  been  put  outside,  even  although  he  may  have 
much  to  say  for  himself  and  the  expulsion  be  of  very 
questionable  justice,  it  is  hard  for  him  to  avoid  a  sense 
of  ignominy.  Ashley  felt  humiliation  even  while  he 
protested  that  all  was  done  of  his  own  choice.  He 
spoke  to  the  Muddocks  no  more  than  a  few  kind  but 
ordinary  words;  he  did  not  go  to  the  house.  Bertie 
invited  him  there  and  pressed  the  invitation  with  the 
subdued  cordiality  which  was  all  that  the  occasion 
allowed;  but  he  would  not  go  on  Bertie's  invitation. 
The  resentment  which  he  could  not  altogether  stifle 
settled  on  Bob.  Bob  was  the  true  head  of  family  and 
business  now.  Why  did  Bob  abdicate?  But  he  had 
himself  been  next  in  succession;  Bob's  abdication 
would  have  left  the  place  open  for  him ;  he  had  refused 
and  renounced ;  he  could  not,  after  all,  be  very  hard  on 
poor  Bob. 

Again  a  few  days  later  came  a  letter  from  Bertie 
Jewett.  This  time  he  made  no  apology  for  writing;  he 
wrote  in  his  official  capacity  as  one  of  Sir  James's 
executors.  By  a  will  executed  a  month  before  death  Sir 
James  left  to  Ashley  Mead,  son  of  his  late  partner,  the 
sum  of  one  thousand  pounds  to  be  paid  free  of  legacy 


266     A   SERVANT    OF   THE   PUBLIC 

duty.  Ashley  had  no  anger  against  the  old  man  and 
accepted  this  acknowledgment  of  his  father's  position 
without  contempt;  it  was  not  left  to  him  but  to  his 
father's  son  ;  before  the  will  was  made  he  had  been  put 
outside. 

"  He  might  have  left  you  more  than  that,"  said  Ora. 

"  You  see,  I  wouldn't  go  into  the  business,"  Ashley 
explained. 

"  No,  and  you  wouldn't  do  anything  he  wanted,"  she 
added  with  a  smile. 

"  It's  really  very  good  of  him  to  leave  me  anything." 

"  I  don't  call  a  thousand  pounds  anything." 

"  That 's  all  very  well  for  you,  with  your  wonderful 
play  up  your  sleeve,"  said  Ashley,  smiling.  "  But,  as 
it  happens,  a  thousand  pounds  is  particularly  convenient 
to  me,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  poor  old  Sir 
James." 

For  armed  with  Bertie  Jewett's  letter  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  an  overdraft  at  his  bank  and 
that  same  evening  he  wrote  a  cheque  for  a  thousand 
pounds  to  the  order  of  Lord  Bowdon.  In  allotting 
old  Sir  James's  money  to  this  particular  purpose  he 
found  a  curious  pleasure.  The  Muddock  family  had 
been  hard  on  Ora  and  hard  on  him  because  of  Ora; 
it  seemed  turning  the  tables  on  them  a  little  to  take 
a  small  fraction  of  their  great  hoard  and  by  its  means 
to  make  them  benefactors  to  Ora,  to  make  them  ex  post 
facto  responsible  for  Jack  Fenning's  departure,  and  to 
connect  them  in  this  way  with  Ora's  life.  His  action 
seemed  to  forge  another  link  in  the  chain  which  bound 
together  the  destinies  of  the  group  among  which  he 
had  moved.  Sir  James  would  have  given  the  thousand 
for  no  such  purpose;  he  had  not  laboured  with  any 
idea    of  benefiting  Ora    Pinsent.     Bowdon    would    not 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     267 

like  taking  the  thousand  pounds;  he  had  desired  to 
lay  his  own  gift  at  Ora's  feet.  But  Sir  James  being 
dead  should  give,  and  Lord  Bowdon  being  his  lady's 
husband  should  take.  So  Ashley  determined  and  wrote 
his  cheque  with  a  smile  on  his  lips.  Things  turned  out 
so  very  oddly. 

"What  have  you  done  with  your  legacy?"  asked 
Ora.  When  money  came  in  to  her,  she  always  "  did 
something"  with  at  least  a  large  proportion  of  it;  in 
other  words  she  got  rid  of  it  in  some  remarkable, 
salient,  imagination-striking  manner,  obtaining  by  this 
means  a  sense  of  wealth  and  good  fortune  which  a  mere 
balance  at  the  bank,  whether  large  or  small,  could  never 
give. 

Ashley  looked  up  at  her  as  she  stood  before  him. 

"  I  've  paid  an  old  debt  with  it,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
very  glad  to  be  able  to.     I  'm  quite  free  now." 

"Were  you  in  debt?  Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
I  've  got  a  lot  of  money.    How  unkind  of  you,  Ashley  !  " 

"  I  couldn't  take  your  money,"  said  Ashley.  "  And 
I  wasn't  pressed.  My  creditor  wouldn't  have  minded 
waiting  for  ever." 

"  What  an  angel !  "  said  Ora.  She  was  a  little  sur- 
prised that  under  the  circumstances  Ashley  had  felt 
called  upon  to  pay. 

"  Exactly,"  he  laughed.     "  It  was  Bowdon." 

"  He  's  got  lots  of  money.     I  wonder  he  takes  it." 

"  I  shall  make  him  take  it.  I  borrowed  it  to  get 
something  I  wanted,  and  I  don't  feel  the  thing's  mine 
till  I  've  paid  him  off." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  that,"  said  Ora. 

"Don't  tell  him  I  told  you." 

"  All  right,  I  won't.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  get  a 
chance  of  telling  Lord  Bowdon  anything.     Irene  was 


268     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

like  ice  to  me  at  the  wedding."  In  reality  Irene  had 
not  failed  to  meet  with  a  decent  cordiality  the  out- 
pouring of  Ora's  enthusiasm. 

"  Confound  you,  I  didn't  want  it,"  was  Lord  Bowdon's 
form  of  receipt  for  the  cheque ;  he  scribbled  it  on  half 
a  sheet  of  note  paper  and  signed  it  "  B."  This  was 
just  what  Ashley  had  expected,  and  he  found  new 
pleasure  in  the  constraint  which  he  had  placed  on 
his  friend's  inclination.  He  shewed  the  document  to 
Ora  when  he  next  went  to  see  her. 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  he  said.  "  Bowdon  didn't 
want  the  money.     Look  here." 

Ora  read  the  scrawl  and  sat  turning  it  over  and  over 
in  her  fingers. 

"  But  he  had  to  take  it,"  said  Ashley  with  a  laugh  of 
triumph,  almost  of  defiance. 

"  I  should  think  he  'd  be  a  very  good  friend,"  said 
Ora.  "  If  Irene  would  let  him,  I  mean,"  she  added 
with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  think  he  'd  lend  me  a  thousand 
pounds  and  not  want  it  paid  back?  "  she  asked. 

"From  my  knowledge  of  him,"  said  Ashley,  "I'm 
quite  sure  he  would." 

"  People  do  an  awful  lot  of  things  for  me,"  said  Ora 
with  a  reflective  smile.  She  paused,  and  added,  "  But 
then  other  people  are  often  very  horrid  to  me.  I 
suppose  it  works  out,  doesn't  it?" 

Ashley  was  engaged  in  a  strenuous  attempt  to  make 
it  work  out,  but  he  had  little  idea  in  what  way  the  bal- 
ance of  profit  and  loss,  good  and  evil,  pleasure  and  pain, 
was  to  be  arrived  at. 

"  You  'd  do  simply  anything  for  me,  wouldn't  you?" 
she  went  on. 

Although  he  had  certainly  done  much  for  her,  yet  he 
felt  himself  an  impostor  when  she  looked  in  his  face  and 


THE   PLAY   AND   THE   PART     269 

asked  him  that  question.  There  seemed  to  him  nothing 
that  he  would  not  suffer  for  her,  no  advantages,  no  pros- 
pects, and  no  friendships  that  he  would  not  forgo  and 
sacrifice  for  her.  But  he  would  not  "  do  simply  anything 
for  her."  There  was  much  that  he  would  not,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  him  could  not,  do  for  her.  Else  what  easier 
than  to  say,  "  We  know  so-and-so  about  your  husband, 
and  we  can  find  out  so-and-so  by  using  the  appropriate 
methods"?  What  easier  than  to  say,  "I'll  go  in  your 
train  to  America,  and  while  you  win  the  triumphs  I'll 
do  the  nosing  "  ?  For  if  he  said  that  to  her,  if  he  opened 
to  her  the  prospect  of  being  rid,  once  and  for  all,  of 
Jack  Fenning,  of  levelling  the  only  fence  between  him 
and  her  of  which  she  was  conscious,  of  enabling  her  to 
keep  her  masterpiece  and  her  triumphs  and  yet  not  lose 
her  lover,  her  joy  would  know  no  bounds  and  the  world 
be  transfigured  for  her  into  a  vision  of  delight.  But  yet 
he  could  not.  All  was  hers  short  of  negativing  himself, 
of  ceasing  to  be  what  he  was,  of  gulfing  his  life,  his 
standards,  his  mind  in  hers.  She  judged  by  what  she 
saw,  and  set  no  bounds  to  a  devotion  that  seemed  bound- 
less. But  to  him  her  praise  was  accusation,  and  he 
charged  himself  with  giving  nothing  because  he  could 
not  give  all. 

Ora  understood  very  little  why  he  suddenly  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  But  she  thought  it  a 
charming  way  of  answering  her  question. 

"  Poor  Ashley !  "  she  sighed,  as  she  escaped  from  his 
embrace.  She  had  occasional  glimpses  of  the  imper- 
fection of  his  happiness,  just  as  she  had  occasional 
pathetic  intuitions  of  what  her  own  nature  was. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

COLLATERAL  EFFECTS 

ON  the  whole  Irene  Bowdon  felt  that  she  ought  to 
thank  heaven,  not  perhaps  in  any  rapturous  out- 
pouring of  tremulous  joy,  but  in  a  sober  give-and-take 
spirit  which  set  possible  evil  against  actual  good,  struck 
the  balance,  and  made  an  entry  of  a  reasonably  large 
figure  on  the  credit  side  of  the  sheet.     Surely  it  was  in 
this  spirit  that  sensible  people  dealt  with   heaven?    If 
once  or  twice  in  her  life  she  had  not  been  sensible,  to 
repeat  such  aberrations  would  little  become  an  experi- 
enced and  twice-married  woman.     You  could  not  have 
everything;  and  Lord  Bowdon's  conduct  had  been  ex- 
tremely satisfactory.     Only  for  two  days  of  one  week 
had    he    relapsed   into    that    apparent   moodiness,  that 
alternation    of    absent-mindedness    with    uncomfortable 
apologies,  which  had  immediately   succeeded  the  offer 
of  his  hand.     On  this  occasion  something   in   a  letter 
from  Ashley  Mead  seemed  to  upset  him.    The  letter  had 
a  cheque  in  it,  and  Irene  believed  that   the  letter  and 
cheque  vexed  her  husband.     She  had  too  much  tact  to 
ask  questions,  and  contented  herself,  so  far  as  outward 
behaviour  went,  with  Bowdon's  remark  that  Ashley  was 
a  young  fool.     But  her  instinct,  sharpened  by  the  old 
jealousy,  had  loudly  cried,  "  Ora  Pinsent !  "     She  was 
glad  to  read  in  the  papers  that  Ora  was  to  go  to  Amer- 
ica.    Yes,  on  the  whole  she  would  thank  heaven,  and 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS         271 

assure  herself  that  Lord  Bowdon  would  have  made  her 
his  wife  anyhow;  that  is,  in  any  case,  and  without  — 
She  never  finished  the  phrase  which  began  with  this 
"  without." 

So  Ora  Pinsent  was  going  to  America.  Surely  mad- 
ness stopped  somewhere?  Surely  Ashley  Mead  would 
not  go  with  her?  Irene  had  never  given  up  hopes  of 
Ashley,  and  at  this  first  glimmer  of  a  chance  she  was 
prepared  to  do  battle  for  him.  She  had  never  quite 
reconciled  herself  to  Bertie  Jewett;  her  old  dislike  of 
the  ribbon-selling  man  and  the  ribbon-selling  atmos- 
phere so  far  persisted  that  she  had  accepted,  rather  than 
welcomed,  the  prospect  of  Bertie.  She  wrote  and  begged 
Alice  Muddock  to  come  across  to  tea.  She  and  Bow- 
don were  in  her  house  in  Queen's  Gate,  his  not  being 
yet  prepared  to  receive  her.  She  fancied  that  she  saw 
her  way  to  putting  everything  right,  to  restoring  the 
status  quo  ante,  and  to  obliterating  altogether  the  effect 
of  Ora  Pinsent's  incursion ;  she  still  felt  a  responsibility 
for  the  incursion.  Of  course  she  was  aware  that  just 
now  matrimonial  projects  must  be  in  the  background 
at  Kensington  Palace  Gardens ;  but  the  way  might  be 
felt  and  the  country  explored. 

"  Mr.  Jewett,  Mr.  Jewett,  Mr.  Jewett ;  "  this  seemed 
the  burden  of  Alice's  conversation.  The  name  was  not 
mentioned  in  a  romantic  way,  nor  in  connexion  with 
romantic  subjects;  it  cropped  up  when  they  talked  of 
the  death,  of  the  funeral,  of  the  business,  of  money  mat- 
ters, future  arrangements,  everything  that  goes  to  make 
up  the  ordinary  round  of  life.  Alice  was  quite  free  from 
embarrassment  and  shewed  no  self-consciousness  about 
the  name ;  but  its  ubiquity  was  in  the  highest  degree 
significant  in  Irene's  eyes.  She  knew  well  that  the  man 
who  has  made   himself  indispensable   has  gone   more 


272     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

than  half-way  towards  making  any  other  man  superflu- 
ous, and  she  seemed  to  be  faced  with  the  established 
fact  of  Bertie  Jewett's  indispensability.  The  time  would 
come  when  he  would  ask  his  reward;  either  he  must 
receive  it  or  he  must  vanish,  carrying  off  with  him  all 
the  comfort  his  presence  had  given  and  breaking  the 
habit  of  looking  to  him  and  leaning  on  him  which  had 
become  so  strong  and  constant.  If  Irene  meant  to  enter 
the  lists  against  Bertie,  she  would  be  challenging  an 
opponent  who  knew  how  to  fight. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  Ashley  Mead?"  she 
asked,  as  she  lifted  the  teapot  and  poured  out  the  tea. 

"  He  came  to  the  funeral,  but  of  course  we  had  no 
talk,  and  he 's  not  been  since." 

"You  haven't  been  asking  people,  I  suppose?" 

"We  haven't  asked  him,"  said  Alice  calmly.  She 
took  her  tea  and  looked  at  her  hostess  with  perfect 
composure. 

"  He  couldn't  come  just  now  without  being  invited, 
you  know,"  Irene  suggested. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Alice,  rather  doubtfully.  "  I 
don't  think  he  wants  to  come."  She  paused,  and  then 
added  deliberately,  "  And  I  don't  want  him  to  come." 
Now  she  flushed  a  very  little,  although  her  face  re- 
mained steady  and  calm.  She  did  not  seem  to  shrink 
from  the  discussion  to  which  her  friend  opened  the 
way.  "  It  would  be  nonsense  to  pretend  that  he 's 
what  he  used  to  be  to  us,"  she  went  on.  "  You  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do,  Irene." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  declared  Irene  pet- 
tishly. "  I  think  you  're  hard  on  him ;  all  men  are 
foolish  sometimes;  it  doesn't  last  long."  Had  not  Lord 
Bowdon  soon  returned  to  grace,  soon  and  entirely? 

"  Oh,  it 's  just  that  you  see  what  they  are,"  said  Alice. 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS         273 

She  set  down  her  cup  and  gazed  absently  out  of  the 
window.  Irene  was  irritated;  her  view  had  been  that 
momentary  weaknesses  in  a  man  were  to  be  combated, 
and  were  not  to  be  accepted  as  final  indications  of  what 
the  man  was ;  she  had  acted  on  that  view  in  regard  to 
her  husband,  and,  as  has  been  stated,  on  the  whole  she 
thanked  heaven.  She  thought  that  Alice  also  might,  if 
she  chose,  bring  herself  to  a  position  in  which  she  could 
thank  heaven  moderately;  but  it  was  not  to  be  done  by 
slamming  the  door  in  the  face  of  a  prodigal  possibly 
repentant.  She  cast  about  for  a  delicate  method  of  re- 
marking that  Ora  Pinsent  was  going  to  America. 

"  It  was  quite  inevitable  that  he  should  drift  away 
from  us,"  Alice  continued.  "  I  see  that  now.  I  don't 
think  we  're  any  of  us  bitter  about  it." 

"  He  needn't  go  on  drifting  away  unless  you  like." 

"  It  isn't  very  likely  that  I  should  make  any  efforts 
to  call  him  back,"  said  Alice,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Why  not?  "  asked  Irene  crossly. 

"  Well,  do  women  do  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  they  do,  my  dear." 

Alice's  smile  expressed  a  very  clear  opinion  of  such 
conduct,  supposing  it  to  exist.  Irene  grew  red  for  an 
instant  and  pushed  her  chair  back  from  the  table.  Anger 
makes  delicate  methods  of  remarking  on  important  facts 
seem  unnecessary. 

"You  know  Ora  Pinsent 's  off  to  America?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  I  know  nothing  of  Miss  Pinsent's  movements," 
said  Alice  haughtily.     "I  don't  read  theatrical  gossip." 

Irene  looked  at  her,  rose,  and  came  near.  She  stood 
looking  down  at  Alice.  Alice  looked  up  with  a  smile ; 
the  irritation  in  both  seemed  to  vanish. 

"Oh,  my  dear  girl,  why  must  you  be  so   proud?" 

18 


274     A    SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

asked  Irene,  with  a  nervous  little  laugh.  "  You  cared 
for  him,  Alice." 

"Yes;  all  the  world  knew  that.  I  didn't  realise, 
though,  quite  how  well  they  knew  it." 

"  And  now  you  don't?  " 

Alice's  eyes  did  not  leave  her  friend's  face  as  she 
paused  in  consideration. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  be  so  happy  as  I  used 
to  think  I  should  be  with  Ashley  Mead,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  But  I  couldn't  now.  I  should  always  be  think- 
ing of — of  what's  been  happening  lately.  Irene,  I 
loathe  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  with  men  it 's  just  —  "  Irene  began. 

"With  some  sort  of  men,  I  suppose  so,"  Alice  inter- 
rupted. "  I  tried  to  think  it  didn't  matter,  but  —  Could 
you  care  for  a  man  if  you  knew  he  had  done  what  Ash- 
ley has?" 

In  ninety  hours  out  of  a  hundred,  in  ninety  moods 
out  of  a  hundred,  Irene  would  have  been  ready  with  the 
"No"  that  Alice  expected  so  confidently  from  her; 
with  that  denial  she  would  instinctively  have  shielded 
herself  from  a  breath  of  suspicion.  But  now,  looking 
into  the  grave  eyes  upturned  to  hers,  she  answered  with 
a  break  in  her  voice, 

"  Yes,  dear ;  we  must  take  what  we  can  get,  you 
know."  Then  she  turned  away  and  walked  back  to  her 
tea-table ;  her  own  face  was  in  shadow  there,  and  thence 
she  watched  Alice's,  which  seemed  to  rise  very  firm  and 
very  white  out  of  the  high  black  collar  of  her  mourning 
gown.  She  loved  Alice,  but,  as  she  watched,  she  knew 
why  Ashley  Mead  had  left  her  and  given  himself  over 
to  Ora  Pinsent;  she  had  not  often  seen  so  nearly  in  the 
way  men  saw.  Then  she  thought  of  what  Bertie  Jewett 
was;  he  could  not  love  as  this  girl  deserved  to  be  loved. 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS         275 

"  And  we  don't  always  get  what  we  deserve,"  she  added, 
forcing  another  nervous  laugh.  "  Most  women  have  to 
put  up  with  something  like  what  you  mean,  only  they  're 
sensible  and  don't  think  about  it." 

"  I  'm  considered  sensible,"  said  Alice,  smiling. 

"  Sensible  people  are  only  silly  in  different  ways  from 
silly  people,"  Irene  declared,  with  a  touch  of  fresh  irrita- 
tion in  her  voice.  "  Well  then,  it 's  no  use  ? "  she 
asked. 

"It's  no  use  trying  to  undo  what's  done."  Alice 
got  up  and  came  and  kissed  her  friend.  "  It  was  like 
you  to  try,  though,"  she  said. 

"  And  I  suppose  it 's  to  be  — ?  " 

"  It 's  not  to  be  anybody,"  Alice  interrupted.  "  Fancy 
talking  about  it  now  !  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  conventional.  You  needn't  mind  that 
with  me." 

"  Really  I  'm  not  thinking  about  it."  But  even  as  she 
spoke  her  face  grew  thoughtful.  "  Our  life  's  arranged 
for  us,  really,"  she  said.  "  We  haven't  much  to  do  with 
it.     Look  how  I  was  born  to  the  business  !  " 

"  And  you  '11  go  on  in  the  business?  " 

"Yes.  I  used  to  think  I  should  like  to  get  away 
from  it.  Perhaps  I  should  like  still;  but  I  never  shall. 
There  are  terribly  few  things  one  gets  a  choice  about." 

"  Marriage  is  one,"  Irene  persisted,  almost  imploringly. 

"Do  you  think  it  is,  as  a  rule?"  asked  Alice  doubt- 
fully. 

Their  talk  had  drawn  them  closer  together  and  re- 
newed the  bonds  of  sympathy,  but  herein  lay  its  only 
comfort  for  Irene  Bowdon.  The  disposition  that  Alice 
shewed  seemed  clearly  to  presage  Bertie  Jewett's  success 
and  to  prove  how  far  he  had  already  progressed.  She 
wondered  to  find  so  much  done  and  to  see  how  Ashley 


276     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

had  lost  his  place  in  the  girl's  conception  of  what  her 
life  must  be.  "  I  should  have  fought  more,"  Irene 
reflected,  and  went  on  to  ask  whether  that  were  not 
because  she  also  felt  more  than  her  friend,  or  at  least 
differently;  did  not  the  temperament  which  occasioned 
defeat  also  soften  it?  Yet  the  girl  was  not  happy;  she 
was  rather  making  the  best  of  an  apparently  necessary 
lack  of  happiness;  life  was  a  niggard  of  joy,  but  by 
good  management  the  small  supply  might  be  so  dis- 
posed as  to  make  a  good  show  and  so  spread  out  as  to 
cover  a  handsome  space.  Against  the  acceptance  of 
such  a  view  Irene's  soul  protested.  It  was  dressing  the 
shop-window  finely  when  there  was  no  stock  inside. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  what  a  man  had  thought,"  she 
said,  "  if  I  could  make  him  think  as  I  wanted  him  to 
now." 

"  No,  but  you  'd  know  him  too  well  to  imagine  that 
you  ever  could,"  said  Alice. 

A  little  inhuman,  wasn't  it?  The  old  question  rose 
again  in  Irene's  mind,  even  while  she  was  feeling  full 
of  sympathy  and  of  love.  It  was  all  too  cold,  too  clear- 
sighted, too  ruthless ;  if  you  were  very  fond  of  people, 
you  did  not  let  yourself  know  too  well  what  you  did 
not  wish  to  think  about  them;  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  forget,  to  select,  to  idealise ;  else  how  could  two 
people  ever  love  one  another?  There  must  be  a  par- 
tiality of  view;  love  must  pretend.  She  could  fancy 
Ashley's  humorously  alarmed  look  at  the  idea  of  living 
in  company  with  perfect  clear-sightedness.  As  for  Ora 
—  but  surely  the  objection  here  would  come  even 
sooner  and  more  clamorously  from  clear-sightedness 
itself? 

"  I  daresay  you  're  right,  dear,  but  it  doesn't  sound 
very  encouraging,"  she  said.     "  I  declare  it 's  a  good 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS  277 

thing  I  'm  married  already,  or  I  should  never  have 
dared  after  this  !  " 

"  If  it  is  like  that,  we  may  just  as  well  admit  it,"  said 
Alice,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  I  must  go  back,"  she 
added.  "  Mr.  Jewett  's  coming  to  dinner  to  talk  over 
some  business  with  me." 

Business  and  Mr.  Jewett !  That  indeed  seemed  now 
the  way  of  it.  Irene  kissed  her  friend  with  rueful 
emphasis. 

At  this  time  Lady  Muddock,  while  conceiving  herself 
prostrate  and  crushed  under  the  blow  which  had  fallen 
on  her,  was  in  reality  very  placid  and  rather  happy. 
As  a  dog  loves  his  master  she  had  loved  her  husband ; 
the  dog  whines  at  the  master's  loss,  but  after  a  time 
will  perceive  that  there  is  nobody  to  prevent  him  from 
having  a  hunt  in  the  coverts.  A  repressive  force  was 
removed,  and  Lady  Muddock  enjoyed  the  novel  feeling 
of  being  a  free  agent.  And  everything  went  very  well 
according  to  her  ideas.  Minna  Soames,  whose  father 
had  been  a  clergyman,  and  who  had  sung  only  at  con- 
certs, would  become  her  daughter-in-law,  and  Bertie 
Jewett  her  son-in-law;  Minna  would  cease  to  sing,  and 
Bertie  would  carry  on  the  business;  Bob  would  be 
perfectly  happy,  and  Alice  would  act  with  true  wisdom 
and  presently  find  her  reward.  She  had  a  sense  of 
being  at  home  in  all  things,  of  there  being  nothing  that 
puzzled  or  shocked  or  upset  her.  She  disliked  the  un- 
familiar; she  had  therefore  disliked  Ora  Pinsent,  even 
while  she  was  flattered  by  knowing  her ;  but  it  was  just 
as  flattering  and  at  the  same  time  more  comfortable  to 
have  known  and  voluntarily  to  have  ceased  to  know 
her.  As  for  Ashley  Mead,  he  had  never  let  her  feel 
quite  at  ease  with  him ;  and  the  society  which  he  had 
been  the  means  of  brin^in^  to  the  house  was  not  the 


278    A   SERVANT  OF   THE   PUBLIC 

sort  which  suited  her.  She  made  preparations  for 
taking  a  handsome  villa  at  Wimbledon;  to  that  she 
would  retire  when  Bob  brought  his  bride  to  Kensington 
Palace  Gardens.  In  a  word,  the  world  seemed  to  be 
fitting  itself  to  her  size  most  admirably. 

Bowdon  had  been  paying  a  visit  of  condolence  to  her 
while  Alice  was  with  his  wife  —  so  Irene  had  contrived  to 
distribute  the  quartette  —  and  discovered  her  state  of 
mind  with  an  amusement  largely  infected  with  envy. 
His  own  life  was  of  course  laid  on  broader  lines  than 
hers ;  there  was  a  wider  social  side  to  it  and  a  public 
side ;  but  he  also  had  come  to  a  time  of  life  and  a  state 
of  things  when  he  must  fit  himself  to  his  world  and  his 
world  to  him,  much  in  Lady  Muddock's  fashion  —  when 
things  became  definite,  vistas  shortened,  and  the  actual 
became  the  only  possible.  The  return  of  his  thousand 
pounds  typified  this  change  to  him ;  it  closed  an  incident 
which  had  once  seemed  likely  to  prevent  or  retard  the 
process  of  settling  down  to  which  he  was  now  adapting 
and  resigning  himself;  he  admitted  with  a  sigh  that  he 
had  put  it  off  as  long  as  most  men,  and  that,  now  it  was 
come,  it  had  more  alleviations  for  him  than  for  most. 
Well,  the  ground  had  to  be  cleared  for  the  next  gene- 
ration ;  theirs  would  be  the  open  playing-fields ;  it  was 
time  for  him  to  go  into  the  house  and  sit  down  by  the 
fire.  What  was  there  to  quarrel  with  in  that?  Did  not 
placens  uxor  sit  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  ?  And 
though  tempests  were  well  enough  in  youth,  in  advanced 
years  they  were  neither  pleasant  nor  becoming.  But  he 
wished  that  it  was  all  as  grateful  to  him  as  it  was  to  Lady 
Muddock. 

Alice  came  in  before  he  left  and  took  him  to  walk 
with  her  in  the  garden.  The  burden  of  her  talk  chimed 
in  with  his  mood  ;  again  she  dwelt  on  the  view  that  one's 


COLLATERAL    EFFECTS         279 

place  was  somewhere  in  the  world,  that  by  most  people 
at  all  events  it  had  only  to  be  found,  not  made,  but  that 
sorrow  and  a  fiasco  waited  on  any  mistake  about  it.  She 
spoke  only  for  herself,  but  she  seemed  to  speak  for  him 
also,  expressing  by  her  subdued  acquiescence  in  giving 
up  what  was  not  hers,  and  her  resolute  facing  of  what 
was,  the  temper  which  he  must  breed  in  himself  if  he 
were  to  travel  the  rest  of  the  way  contentedly. 

"  But  it 's  a  bit  of  a  bore,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked,  suddenly 
standing  still  and  looking  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it's  a  bit  of  a  bore,"  said  she.  Then 
she  went  on  rather  abruptly,  "  Have  you  seen  Ashley 
since  you  came  back?" 

"  Only  once,  for  a  moment  at  the  club." 

"  Is  he  getting  on  well?     Will  he  do  well?" 

"If  he  likes,"  said  Bowdon,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  But  he 's  a  queer  fellow." 

"  I  don't  think  he  quite  agrees  with  us  in  what  we  Ve 
been  saying." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  At.  any  rate  I  fancy  he 
won't  act  on  it." 

"There's  no  use  talking  about  it,"  she  said  with  an 
impatience  only  half  suppressed.  "  He  's  so  different 
from  what  he  used  to  be." 

"Not  so  very,  a  little  perhaps.  Then  you're  a  little 
different  from  what  you  used  to  be,  aren't  you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  interest. 

"Yes?"  she  said  questioningly. 

"Add  the  two  little  differences  together  and  they 
make  a  big  one." 

"A  big  difference  between  us?" 

"That's  what  I  mean.  I  feel  the  same  thing  about 
him  myself.  He's  not  for  settling  down,  Miss  Mud- 
dock." 


280    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  we  both  know  why  that  is,"  she  said. 
"We  needn't  mention  names,  but  —  " 

"  Well,  we  know  how  it  is  even  if  we  don't  know  why- 
it  is;  but  it  isn't  all  Miss  Pinsent,  or  — "  He  paused 
an  instant  and  ended  with  a  question.  "  Or  why  doesn't 
he  settle  down  there?" 

She  seemed  to  consider  his  question,  but  shook  her 
head  as  though  she  found  no  answer.  To  adduce  the 
obvious  objection,  the  Fenning  objection,  seemed  incon- 
sistent with  the  sincerity  into  which  their  talk  had  drifted. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Bowdon,  "  I  'm  beginning  to 
think  that  it  doesn't  much  matter  what  sort  a  man  is, 
but  he  ought  to  be  one  sort  or  the  other.  Don't  you 
know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

She  walked  by  his  side  in  silence  again  for  a  few  min- 
utes, then  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Are  we  contemptuous,  or  are  we  envious,  or  what 
are  we,  we  people  of  one  sort?  "  she  asked. 

"On  my  honour  I  don't  know,"  answered  Bowdon, 
shaking  his  head  and  laughing  a  little. 

"  I  think  I  'm  contemptuous,"  she  said,  and  looked  in 
his  face  to  find  an  equal  candour.  But  he  did  not  give 
his  decision ;  he  would  not  admit  that  he  inclined  still 
a  little  towards  the  mood  of  envy.  "  Anyhow  it  must 
be  strange  to  be  like  that,"  she  said ;  she  had  thought 
the  same  thing  before  when  she  sat  in  the  theatre,  watch- 
ing Ora  Pinsent  act.  Then  she  had  watched  with  an 
outside  disinterested  curiosity  in  the  study  of  a  being 
from  another  world  who  could  not,  as  it  had  seemed, 
make  any  difference  to  her  world  or  to  her;  but  Ora 
had  made  differences  for  her,  or  at  least  had  brought 
differences  to  light.  So  the  various  lines  of  life  run  in 
and  out,  now  meeting  and  now  parting,  each  following 
its  own  curve,  lead  where  it  may. 


COLLATERAL    EFFECTS  281 

"  I  must  run  away,"  said  Bowdon,  "or  I  shall  keep 
my  wife  waiting  for  dinner." 

"  And  I  must  go  and  dress,  or  I  shall  keep  Mr.  Jewett 
waiting  for  dinner." 

They  parted  with  no  more  exchange  of  confidence 
than  lay  in  the  hint  of  a  half-bitter  smile.  Lord 
Bowdon  walked  home  to  Queen's  Gate,  meditating  on 
the  Developments  and  Manifestations  of  the  Modern 
Spirit.  He  yielded  to  fashion  so  far  as  to  shape  his 
phrase  in  this  way  and  to  affix  mental  capital  letters 
to  the  dignified  words.  But  in  truth  he  was  conscious 
that  the  affair  was  a  very  old  one,  that  there  had  been 
always  a  Modern  Spirit.  In  the  state  of  innocency  Adam 
fell,  and  in  the  days  of  villainy  poor  Jack  Falstaff;  the 
case  would  seem  to  be  much  the  same  with  the  Modern 
Spirit.  Still  there  is  good  in  a  label,  to  comfort  the 
consciences  of  sinners  and  to  ornament  the  eloquence 
of  saints. 

The  eloquence  of  saints  was  on  the  lips  of  his  wife 
that  evening  when  they  dined  together,  and  Bowdon 
listened  to  it  with  complete  intellectual  assent.  He 
could  not  deny  the  force  of  her  strictures  on  Ashley 
Mead  nor  the  justness  of  her  analysis  of  Ora  Pinsent. 
But  he  did  not  love  her  in  this  mood ;  we  do  not 
always  love  people  best  when  they  convince  us  most. 
Ashley  was  terribly  foolish,  Ora  seemed  utterly  devoid 
of  the  instinct  of  morality,  intimated  Irene. 

"  No,"  said  Bowdon,  with  a  sudden  undeliberated 
decisiveness,  "  that 's  just  what  she  's  got.  She  hasn't 
anything  else,  but  she  has  that." 

The  flow  of  Irene's  talk  was  stemmed ;  she  looked 
across  at  him  with  a  vexed  enquiring  air. 

"  You  've  not  seen  anything  like  so  much  of  her  as  I 
have,"  she  objected.     "  Really  I  don't  see  what  you  can 


282     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

know  about  it,  Frank.  Besides  men  never  understand 
women  as  women  do." 

"  Sometimes  better,  and  I  'm  quite  right  here,"  he 
persisted.     "  Why  did  she  send  for  her  husband?  " 

"  I  don't  think  there  was  ever  any  real  question  of  his 
coming."     This  remark  was  not  quite  sincere. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  was,"  said  Bowdon  with  a  smile. 
The  smile  hinted  knowledge  and  thereby  caused  annoy- 
ance to  his  wife.  How  did  he  come  to  know,  or  to 
think  he  knew,  so  much  of  Ora?  But  it  was  no  great 
thing  that  had  inspired  his  protest;  it  was  only  the 
memory  of  how  she  once  said,  "  Don't." 

"  I  'm  going  to  see  her,"  Irene  announced  in  resolute 
tones.  "  I  used  to  have  some  influence  over  her,  and 
I  'm  going  to  try  and  use  it.     I  may  do  some  good." 

"  In  what  direction,  dear  ?  "  There  was  a  touch  of 
scepticism  in  Bowdon's  voice. 

"  About  Ashley  Mead.  I  do  believe  everything  could 
be  made  happy  again.  Frank,  I  'm  not  reconciled  to 
Bertie  Jewett  yet." 

Bowdon  shook  his  head ;  he  was  reconciled  to  Bertie 
Jewett  and  to  the  tendency  of  events  which  involved 
the  success  of  Bertie  Jewett. 

"  And  she  ought  to  go  back  to  her  husband,"  Irene 
pursued. 

The  Modern  Spirit  had  not,  it  must  be  presumed, 
left  Lord  Bowdon  entirely  untouched,  else  he  could 
not  have  dissented  from  this  dictum ;  or  was  it  only 
that  a  very  vivid  remembrance  of  Mr.  Fenning  rose 
in  his  mind? 

"I'm  hanged  if  she  ought,"  he  said  emphatically. 
"  And  if  you  only  knew  what  the  fellow  's  like  —  "  He 
came  to  a  sharp  stop;  his  wife's  surprised  eyes  were 
set  on  his  face. 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS         283 

"  You  don't  know  what  he  's  like,  you  Ve  never  seen 
him;  you  told  me  so,  long  ago,  when  I  first  got  to 
know  her."  Lord  Bowdon  appeared  embarrassed. 
"Wasn't  it  true?"  asked  Irene  severely. 

"  Yes,  it  was  true,"  he  answered,  and  truly,  for,  at 
the  time  he  said  it,  it  had  been  true. 

"Then  how  do  you  know  what  he  's  like?  "  she  per- 
sisted. The  servants  had  left  them  to  their  coffee. 
Irene  came  round  and  sat  down  close  to  her  husband. 
"  You  know  something,  something  you  didn't  mean  me 
to  know.     What  is  it,  Frank?" 

Bowdon  looked  at  her  steadily.  He  had  meant  to 
tell  nothing;  but  he  had  already  told  too  much.  A 
sudden  gleam  of  understanding  came  into  her  eyes; 
her  quick  intuition  discerned  a  connection  between 
this  thing  and  the  other  incident  which  had  puzzled 
her. 

"  I  believe  it 's  something  to  do  with  that  cheque 
Ashley  Mead  sent  you,"  she  said.  She  would  not 
move  her  eyes  from  his  face. 

"  I  'm  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you  anything  about  it. 
Of  course  I  'm  not  going  to  deny  that  there 's  a  secret. 
But  I  can't  tell  you  about  it,  Irene." 

"  You  would  be  quite  safe  in  telling  me."  She  rose 
and  stood  looking  down  on  him.  "  You  ought  to  tell 
me,"  she  said.  "  You  ought  to  tell  me  anything  that 
concerns  both  you  and  Ora  Pinsent." 

She  was  amazed  to  say  this,  and  he  to  hear  it.  The 
one  point  of  silence,  of  careful  silence,  the  one  thing 
which  neither  had  dared  to  speak  of  to  the  other,  the 
one  hidden  spring  which  had  moved  the  conduct  of 
both,  suddenly  became  a  matter  of  speech  on  her  lips 
to  him.  Suddenly  she  faced  the  question  and  demanded 
that   he    also    should    face    it.     She   admitted   and  she 


284    A   SERVANT   OF  THE   PUBLIC 

claimed  that  what  touched  him  and  Ora  Pinsent  must 
touch  her  also.     And  he  did  not  contest  the  claim. 

"I  must  know,  if — if  we're  to  go  on,  Frank,"  she 
said. 

"  There  's  much  less  than  you  think,"  said  he.  "  But 
I  '11  tell  you.  I  tell  you  in  confidence,  you  know. 
Fenning  came.     That 's  all." 

Irene  made  no  comment.  That  was  not  all;  the 
cheque  from  Ashley  Mead  was  not  explained.  Bowdon 
proceeded  with  his  story.  He  told  what  he  had  to  tell 
in  short  sharp  sentences.  "  The  fellow  was  impossible." 
"  It  was  impossible  to  let  her  see  him."  "  He  was  a 
rascal."  "  He  drank."  Pauses  of  silence  were  inter- 
spersed. "  It  would  have  killed  her."  "  He  only  wanted 
money  of  her."  "  The  idea  of  his  going  near  her  was 
intolerable."  "  She  had  forgotten  what  he  was,  or  he 
had  gone  down-hill  terribly." 

"And  the  money?"  asked  Irene,  in  a  low  whisper. 
She  had  seated  herself  again,  and  was  looking  before 
her  into  the  fireplace. 

"  He  came  for  money ;  he  had  to  have  it  if  he  was  to 
go.     Ashley  asked  me  for  it.     I  gave  it  him." 

"  As  a  loan?     He  sent  it  back." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  as  a  loan.  But,  as  you  say,  he  's 
sent  it  back." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he  didn't  want  her  to  be  indebted  to  me 
for  it"  His  bitterness  cropped  out  in  his  tone  ;  he  had 
desired  a  share  in  the  work  which  Ashley  would  not 
give  him.  He  must  have  forgotten  his  wife  for  the  mo- 
ment, or  he  would  have  kept  that  bitterness  out  of  his 
voice ;  indeed  for  the  moment  he  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten her,  as  he  leant  his  head  on  his  hand  and  stared 
gloomily  at  the  floor. 


COLLATERAL   EFFECTS         285 

"  So  we  gave  him  the  money,  and  he  went  away 
again."  She  was  silent.  "  You  wouldn't  wonder  so 
much  if  you  'd  seen  him." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  she  said.  "I  haven't  seen  him,  but 
I  don't  wonder.     And  you  never  told  her?" 

"  No,  I  never  told  her." 

"Nor  Ashley  Mead?" 

"  No,  he  's  never  told  her,  either.  And  you  mustn't." 
For  an  instant  his  tone  was  rigidly  imperative. 

In  spite  of  the  tone  she  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to 
the  last  words. 

"You  kept  it  all  from  her?"  she  asked  again. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Does  that  seem  very  wrong  to 
you?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  groaned. 

"  Or  very  strange?  "  he  asked,  turning  his  head  and 
looking  towards  her. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  suddenly,  walked  to  the  mantel- 
piece, and  stood  there  with  her  back  towards  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  very  strange.  It 's  only  what 
I  knew  before.  It's  not  strange."  She  turned  round 
and  faced  him;  she  was  rather  pale,  but  she  smiled  a 
little. 

"  I  knew  all  the  time  that  you  were  in  love  with  her 
too,"  she  said.  "  Of  course  you  wouldn't  let  the  man 
go  near  her  !  " 

Bowdon  raised  his  eyes  to  his  wife's  face.  She  turned 
away  again. 

"  I  knew  it  when  I  made  you  propose  to  me,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  WAYS   DIVIDE 

IT  may  safely  be  said  that,  had  Bowdon's  wife  been 
such  as  Ora  Pinsent,  or  Bowdon  himself  of  the  clay  of 
which  Ora  was  made,  the  foregoing  conversation  would 
not  have  stopped  where  it  did,  nor  with  the  finality 
which  in  fact  marked  its  close.  It  would  have  been 
lengthened,  resumed,  and  elaborated ;  its  dramatic  pos- 
sibilities in  the  way  of  tragedy  and  comedy  (it  was 
deficient  in  neither  line)  would  have  been  developed; 
properly  and  artistically  handled,  it  must  have  led  to 
something.  But  ordinary  folk,  especially  perhaps  ordi- 
nary English  folk,  make  of  their  lives  one  grand  waste 
of  dramatic  possibilities,  and  as  things  fell  out  the  talk 
seemed  to  lead  to  nothing.  When  Irene  had  made  her 
remark  about  knowing  that  her  husband  was  in  love 
with  Ora  even  when  she  induced  him  to  propose  to  her- 
self, she  stood  a  moment  longer  by  the  mantel-piece  and 
then  went  upstairs,  as  her  custom  was;  he  held  the 
door  open  for  her,  as  his  custom  was ;  sat  down  again, 
drank  a  small  glass  of  cognac,  and  smoked  a  cigar,  all 
as  his  custom  was;  in  about  half  an  hour  he  joined 
her  in  the  drawing-room  and  they  talked  about  the 
house  they  were  going  to  take  in  Scotland  for  the 
autumn.  Neither  then  nor  in  the  days  that  followed 
was  any  reference  made  to  this  after-dinner  conversa- 
tion, nor  to  the  startling  way  in  which  the  hidden  had 


THE    WAYS   DIVIDE  287 

become  open,  the  veil  been  for  a  moment  lifted,  and  the 
thing  which  was  between  them  declared  and  recognised. 
The  dramatic  possibilities  were,  in  fact,  absolutely  neg- 
lected and  thrown  away ;  to  all  appearance  the  conver- 
sation might  never  have  taken  place,  so  little  effect  did 
it  seem  to  have,  so  absolutely  devoid  of  result  it  seemed 
to  be.  It  was  merely  that  for  ever  there  it  was,  never  to 
be  forgotten,  always  to  form  part  of  their  consciousness, 
to  define  permanently  the  origin  of  their  relations  to 
one  another,  to  make  it  quite  plain  how  it  was  that  they 
came  to  be  passing  their  lives  together.  That  it  did  all 
these  not  unimportant  things  and  yet  never  led  to 
another  acute  situation  or  striking  scene  shews  how 
completely  the  dramatic  possibilities  were  thrown  away. 

It  did  not  even  alter  Irene's  resolve  of  going  to  see 
Ora  Pinsent.  To  acquiesce  in  existing  facts  appeared 
the  only  thing  left  to  do  so  far  as  she  herself  was  con- 
cerned :  but  the  facts  might  still  be  modified  for  others ; 
this  was  what  she  told  herself.  Besides  this  feeling,  she 
was  impelled  by  an  increased  curiosity,  a  new  desire  to 
see  again  and  to  study  the  woman  who  had  been  the 
occasion  of  this  conversation,  who  had  united  her  hus- 
band and  her  friend  in  a  plot  and  made  them  both  sac- 
rifice more  than  money  because  they  would  not  have 
Jack  Fenning  come  near  her.  We  are  curious  when  we 
are  jealous ;  where  lies  the  power,  what  is  the  secret  of 
the  strength  which  conquers  us? 

The  scene  in  the  little  house  at  Chelsea  was  very 
much  the  same  as  Alice  Muddock  had  once  chanced  on 
there.  Sidney  Hazlewood  and  Babba  Flint  were  with 
Ora;  after  a  swift  embrace  Ora  resumed  her  talk  with 
them.  The  talk  was  of  tours,  triumphs,  and  thousands ; 
the  masterpiece  was  finished;  it  bulged  nobly  in 
Babba's    pocket,   type-written,    in    brown    covers,    with 


288    A   SERVANT   OF  THE   PUBLIC 

pink  ribbons  to  set  off  its  virgin  beauty.  On  the  table 
lay  a  large  foolscap  sheet,  fairly  written;  this  was  an 
agreement,  ready  for  Ora's  signature ;  when  it  had  re- 
ceived that,  it  would  be,  as  Hazlewood  was  reminding 
Ora,  an  agreement.  Ora  was  struck  anew  with  the  un- 
expectedness of  this  result  of  merely  writing  one's 
name,  and  shewed  a  disinclination  to  take  the  decisive 
step.  She  preferred  to  consider  tour,  triumphs,  and 
thousands  as  hypothetical  delights;  she  got  nearly  as 
much  enjoyment  out  of  them  and  was  bound  to  nothing. 
Babba  smoked  cigarettes  with  restless  frequency  and 
nervous  haste ;  a  horse  and  cart  could  almost  have  been 
driven  along  the  wrinkle  on  Mr.  Hazlewood's  brow. 
He  looked  sixty,  if  he  looked  a  day,  that  afternoon. 
Irene  sat  unnoticed,  undisturbed,  with  the  expression  in 
her  eyes  which  a  woman  wears  when  she  is  saying, 
"Yes,  I  suppose  it  would  be  so ;  I  suppose  men  would. 
I  don't  feel  it  myself,  but  I  understand  how  it  would 
be."  The  expression  is  neither  of  liking  nor  of  dislike ; 
it  is  of  unwilling  acquiescence  in  a  fact  recognised  but 
imperfectly  comprehended.  The  presence  of  the  power 
is  admitted,  the  source  but  half  discovered ;  the  analysis 
of  a  drug  need  not  be  complete  before  we  are  able  to 
discern  its  action. 

"  I  won't  sign  to-day,"  said  Ora.  "  I  might  change  my 
mind." 

"  Good  Lord,  don't !  "  cried  Babba,  seizing  another 
cigarette. 

"  That's  just  why  we  want  you  to  sign  to-day,"  said 
Hazlewood,  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead  in  a  vain 
effort  to  obliterate  the  wrinkle. 

"  Then  you  'd  bring  an  action  against  me  !  "  exclaimed 
Ora  indignantly. 

"  Without  a  doubt  —  and  win  it,"  said  Hazlewood. 


THE   WAYS   DIVIDE  289 

"I  hate  agreements.  I  hate  being  committed  to 
things.     Oh,  do  give  me  a  cigarette!" 

After  all,  was  it  not  strange  that  both  the  men  should 
have  done  what  they  had  for  her?  Was  there  not  a 
touch  of  vulgarity  in  her?  To  the  jealous  eyes  of  a 
woman,  perhaps.  "  But  men  don't  see  that,"  thought 
Irene  Bowdon  as  she  sat  on  the  sofa;  she  was  in  that 
favourite  seat  of  her  hostess',  by  the  little  table,  the 
portrait  in  its  silver  frame,  and  the  flower-vase  that  once 
had  hidden  the  letter  from  Bridgeport,  Connecticut 

There  was  more  in  Ora's  mood  than  her  natural  inde- 
cision, or  her  congenital  dislike  of  being  bound,  or  her 
ingrained  dread  of  agreements  which  were  agreements. 
The  men  did  not  see  this;  what  do  men  see?  But  the 
observant  woman  on  the  sofa  saw  it.  The  power  of  the 
tour,  the  triumphs,  and  the  thousands  was  fought  by 
another  power;  the  battle  raged  in  the  heart  of  the 
woman  who  would  not  sign,  who  chaffed  and  laughed 
and  protested  petulantly,  who  put  off  her  persuaders 
by  any  art  or  device  her  beauty  excused  or  her  way- 
wardness furnished,  who  would  say  neither  yes  nor  no. 
The  conflict  declared  itself  in  her  nervous  laughs,  in  her 
ridiculous  puffings  at  an  ill-used  cigarette,  in  the  air  of 
attention  which  seemed  to  expect  or  hope  for  a  new 
arrival,  perhaps  somebody  to  rescue  her,  to  decide  for 
her,  to  take  the  burden  of  choice  from  the  shoulders 
that  she  shrugged  so  deprecatingly. 

"  It 's  awful  to  go  wandering  about  over  there  for 
months,"  she  said.  "  I  hate  you  both,  oh,  how  I  hate 
you  both!" 

"  The  part  —  "  began  Babba. 

"  Do  be  quiet.  I  know  it's  a  lovely  part,"  cried  Ora. 
Then  she  turned  suddenly  to  Irene  and  began  to 
laugh.     "Don't  tell  anybody  how  silly  I   am,   Irene," 

19 


290    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

she  said,  and  she  looked  at  the  clock  again  with  that 
expectant  hopeful  air. 

"  It 's  now  or  never,"  declared  Mr.  Hazlewood,  with 
much  solemnity. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  said  Ora  peevishly.  "  It's  now  or 
to-morrow  ;  and  to-morrow  will  do  just  as  well." 

Hazlewood  and  Babba  exchanged  glances.  After  all, 
to-morrow  would  be  just  in  time;  they  had  wrestled 
long  with  her  to-day. 

"  If  you  '11  take  your  Bible  oath  to  settle  one  way  or 
the  other  to-morrow  —  "  Babba  began. 

"  I  will,  I  will,  oh,  of  course  I  will,"  Ora  interrupted, 
infinite  joy  and  relief  lighting  up  her  face.  "  I  shall 
know  quite  well  by  to-morrow.  Do  go  now,  there  's 
good  men.    I  '11  settle  it  all  in  five  minutes  to-morrow." 

"  Mind  you  do,"  said  Babba,  looking  round  for  his 
hat.  Hazlewood  had  his  and  was  staring  at  the  crown 
of  it;  a  coach  and  four  might  have  hazarded  passage 
along  the  wrinkle  now. 

"  You  '11  be  just  the  same  to-morrow,"  he  observed, 
hardly  reproachfully,  but  with  an  air  of  sad  knowledge. 

"  I  shan't,"  said  Ora  indignantly.  "  If  you  think 
that  of  me,  I  wonder  you  have  anything  to  do  with  me. 
Oh,  but  I  suppose  I  'm  useful !  Nobody  cares  for  me  — 
only  just  for  the  use  I  am  to  them  !  " 

Both  men  smiled  broadly;  greatly  to  her  surprise 
and  disgust  Irene  found  herself  exchanging  what  she 
was  obliged  to  call  a  grin  with  Babba  Flint;  she  had 
not  expected  to  live  to  do  that. 

"  That 's  just  it,  Miss  Pinsent,"  said  Babba.  "  You 
ain't  clever,  and  you  ain't  pleasant,  and  you  ain't 
pretty;  but  the  fool  of  a  public  happens  to  like  you, 
so  we  've  all  got  to  pretend  you  are ;  and  we  mean  to 
work  you  to  the  last  tanner,  don't  you  know?" 


THE   WAYS   DIVIDE  291 

Mr.  Hazlewood  smiled  sardonically;  he  did  not 
admire  Babba's  wit. 

"  This  time  to-morrow  then,"  said  Ora,  ringing  the 
bell.  "  Oh,  and  take  your  agreement  with  you  ;  I  won't 
have  the  odious  thing  here."  She  flung  it  at  Babba, 
who  caught  it  cleverly.  "  I  couldn't  live  in  the  room 
with  it,"  she  said. 

Ora  waited  till  she  heard  the  house  door  shut  upon 
her  visitors.  "Thank  goodness  !  "  she  cried  then,  as  she 
sank  into  a  chair  opposite  Irene.  "  How  good  of  you 
to  come  and  see  me,"  she  went  on. 

Irene  was  hard  on  her  search;  she  did  not  allow 
herself  to  be  turned  aside  by  mere  civilities,  however 
charming  might  be  the  cordiality  with  which  they  were 
uttered. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  America?  "  she  asked. 

Ora's  face  grew  plaintive  again ;  she  thought  that  she 
had  got  rid  of  that  question  till  the  next  day. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  Yes.  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure." 
She  leant  forward  towards  her  friend.  "  I  suppose 
you 're  awfully  happy,  aren't  you,  Irene?" 

Irene  smiled;  she  had  no  intention  of  casting  doubts 
on  her  bliss  in  her  present  company. 

"Then  do  be  kind  to  me,  because  I'm  awfully  miser- 
able. Now  you  're  looking  as  if  you  were  going  to  tell 
me  it  was  my  own  fault.  Please  don't,  dear.  That 
doesn't  do  any  good  at  all." 

"  Not  the  least  I  'm  sure,  to  you,"  said  Irene  Bowdon. 

Ora  scanned  her  friend's  face  anxiously  and  timidly. 
She  was  speculating  on  the  amount  of  sympathy  to  be 
expected;  she  knew  that  on  occasion  Irene  could  be 
almost  as  unjust  as  Alice  Muddock.  She  was  afraid 
that  Irene  would  break  out  on  her.  Irene  was  in  no 
such  mood ;    coldly,  critically,  jealously  observant,  she 


292    A   SERVANT   OF  THE  PUBLIC 

waited  for  this  woman  to  throw  new  lights  on  herself,  to 
exhibit  the  kind  of  creature  she  was,  to  betray  her 
weakness  and  to  explain  her  power. 

"  Can't  you  make  up  your  mind  whether  to  go  or 
not?"  she  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  If  you  only  knew  what  going  means  to  me  !  "  cried 
Ora.  Suddenly  she  rose  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees 
beside  her  friend.  Irene  had  an  impulse  to  push  her 
away;  but  she  sat  quite  still  and  suffered  Ora  to  take 
her  hand.  "  You  see,  he  can't  come  with  me,"  Ora  went 
on,  with  a  pathetic  air  which  seemed  to  bemoan  the 
wanton  impossibility  of  what  might,  had  it  been  so  dis- 
posed, have  been  quite  possible. 

"  Who  can't  go  with  you?     Mr.  Mead?  " 

"Yes,  Ashley;  who  else  could  I  mean?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  he  can."  Irene  gave  a  short 
laugh. 

"  No,"  said  Ora  resentfully.  "  He  can't,  you  see."  She 
looked  up  in  Irene's  face.  "  At  least  I  suppose  he 
can't?"  she  said  in  a  coaxing  voice;  then  dreariness 
conquered  and  reigned  in  her  whole  air  as  she  added 
mournfully,  "  Anyhow,  I  'm  sure  he  won't." 

"  I  hope  to  goodness  he  won't,"  said  Irene  Bowdon. 

Ora  drew  a  little  away,  as  though  surprised ;  then  she 
nodded  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  knew  you  'd  say  that,"  she  remarked. 

"What  in  the  world  else  should  I  say?"  Irene 
demanded. 

"  Nothing,  I  suppose,"  sighed  Ora.  "  It  would  be 
quite  out  of  the  question,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Irene,  and  shut  her  lips  close  as  the 
one  word  left  them.  Her  patience  was  failing.  There 
were  two  possible  things,  to  be  respectable,  and  not  to 
be  respectable;  but  there  was  no  such  third  course  as 
Ora  seemed  to  expect  to  have  found  for  her. 


THE   WAYS    DIVIDE  293 

"Of  course  if  I  give  up  the  tour,"  said  Ora,  in  a 
meditative  tone,  "  things  could  go  on  as  they  are." 

"  Could  they?  "  cried  Irene.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  how 
they  are,  and  I  don't  want  to  ask.  Well,  then,  I  sup- 
pose I  don't  believe  the  worst  or  I  shouldn't  be  here ; 
but  almost  everybody  does,  and  if  you  go  on  much 
longer  quite  everybody  will." 

"  I  don't  mind  a  bit  about  that,"  remarked  Ora. 
Her  tone  was  simple  and  matter-of-fact ;  she  was  neither 
making  a  confession  nor  claiming  a  merit.  "  How  can 
I  be  expected  to?  I  lost  all  feeling  of  that  sort  when 
Jack  didn't  come.  He  was  the  person  who  ought  to 
have  cared,  and  he  didn't  care  enough  to  come  when  I 
said  he  might." 

The  reference  to  Mr.  Fenning  touched  Irene's  wound, 
and  it  smarted  again.  But  she  was^  loyal  to  her  hus- 
band's injunction  and  gave  no  hint  which  might  disturb 
Ora's  certainty  that  Jack  Fenning  had  not  come. 

"  I  think  you  'd  better  go  away  before  you  've  quite 
ruined  Ashley  Mead's  life,"  she  said  in  cold  and  delib- 
erate tones;  "  and  before  you've  ruined  yourself  too, 
if  you  care  about  that." 

She  expected  to  be  met  by  one  of  Ora's  old  pitiful 
protests  against  harsh  and  unsympathetic  judgments; 
the  look  in  Ora's  eyes  a  little  while  ago  had  fore- 
shadowed such  an  appeal.  But  it  did  not  come  now. 
Ora  regarded  her  with  a  faint  smile  and  brows  slightly 
raised. 

"  I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "  how  all  sorts  of  different 
people  can  be  expected  all  to  behave  in  exactly  the 
same  way." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Irene  irri- 
tably. 

"  Well,  that 's  what  it  comes  to,  if  you  listen  to  what 
people  say." 


294     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Do  you  mean  if  you  listen  to  what  I  say?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ora,  with  a  smile,  "  you  and  Miss  Mud- 
dock  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  And  I  suppose  you  Ve 
made  Lord  Bowdon  as  bad  by  now?  I  'm  not  going  to 
think  about  it  any  more."  She  shook  her  head  as  though 
to  clear  away  these  mists  of  conventional  propriety.  "  If 
people  can  be  happy  anyhow,  why  shouldn't  they?" 
she  added. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Irene,  "  that  you  really  think  you  're 
coming  to  a  new  resolution.  As  if  you  'd  ever  thought 
of  anything  except  what  you  liked  !  " 

Ora  shook  her  head  again,  this  time  in  gentle  denial; 
memories  of  infinite  sacrifices  to  the  Ideal  rose  before 
her ;  for  example,  there  was  the  recalling  of  her  hus- 
band. But  she  would  not  argue  as  to  her  own  mer- 
its; she  had  ceased  to  expect  justice  or  to  hope  for 
approbation. 

"  It 's  all  no  use,"  she  said  despondently.  "  I  may 
say  what  I  like,  but  he  won't  come."  Again  she  spoke 
as  though  she  would  not  give  up  the  tour  and  would 
sign  the  agreement  on  the  morrow,  and  would  do  this 
although  she  knew  that  Ashley  would  not  come.  Then 
they  would  separate !  To  her  own  sheer  amazement 
and  downright  shame  Irene  Bowdon  felt  a  sharp  pang 
of  sorrow;  for  Ora  looked  puzzled  and  forlorn,  as 
though  she  did  what  she  could  not  help  and  suffered 
keenly  at  the  price  she  had  to  pay.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  Ora  divined  the  newly  born  sympathy.  "  You  are 
sorry  for  me,  aren't  you?"  she  murmured,  stretching 
her  hands  out  towards  her  friend. 

"  Yes,"  said  Irene,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  actually  am." 
She  was  beginning  to  understand  the  transaction  which 
had  sent  Jack  Fenning  away  richer  by  a  thousand 
pounds. 


THE   WAYS   DIVIDE  295 

"  I  know  you  'd  help  me  if  you  could,"  Ora  went  on, 
"  but  nobody  can ;  that 's  the  worst  of  it."  She  paused 
for  a  moment,  and  then  remarked  with  a  mournful 
smile,  "  And  suppose  Babba  's  wrong  and  the  play  does 
no  good  after  all !  " 

Irene's  warmth  of  feeling  was  chilled ;  she  did  not 
understand  the  glamour  of  the  play  so  well  as  she  ap- 
preciated the  pathos  of  the  parting.  The  strength  of 
the  tie  came  home  to  her,  the  power  which  fought 
against  it  was  beyond  her  experience  or  imagination. 

"  I  wonder  you  can  think  about  the  play  at  all,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  you  Ve  no  idea  what  a  part  it  is  for  me  !  "  cried 
Ora.  But  her  plea  sounded  weak,  even  flippant,  to 
Irene ;  she  condemned  it  as  the  fruit  of  vanity  and  the 
sign  of  shallowness.  Ora  caused  in  others  changes  of 
mood  almost  as  quick  as  those  she  herself  suffered. 

"  Well,  if  you  go  because  you  like  the  part,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  be  very  sorry  for  you.  It's  a  very  good 
thing  you  should  go ;  and  your  part  will  console  you 
for  —  for  what  you  leave  behind." 

Ora  made  no  answer;  her  look  of  indecision  and 
puzzle  had  returned;  it  was  useless  to  try  to  make 
another  understand  what  she  herself  failed  to  analyse. 
But  as  the  business  drew  Alice  Muddock,  so  the  play 
drew  her;  and  the  business  had  helped  to  turn  Alice's 
heart  from  Ashley  Mead.  He  had  not  been  able  there 
to  conquer  what  was  in  the  blood  and  mingled  its  roots 
with  the  roots  of  life.  No  thought  of  a  parallel  came  to 
Irene  Bowdon ;  any  point  of  likeness  between  the  two 
women  or  their  circumstances  would  have  seemed  to 
her  impossible  and  the  idea  of  it  absurd ;  they  were 
wide  asunder  as  the  poles.  What  she  did  dimly  feel  was 
the  fashion  in  which  Ashley  seemed  to  stand  midway 


296     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

between  them,  within  hearing  of  both  and  yet  divided 
from  each ;  she  approached  the  conclusion  that  he  was 
not  really  made  for  either,  because  he  had  points  which 
likened  him  to  both.  But  this  was  little  more  than  a 
passing  gleam  of  insight;  she  fell  back  on  the  simpler 
notion  that  after  all  Ashley  and  Ora  could  not  be  so 
very  much  in  love  with  one  another.  If  they  were  vic- 
tims of  the  desperate  passion  she  had  supposed,  one 
or  other  or  both  would  give  up  everything  else  in  the 
world.  They  were  both  shallow  then;  and  probably 
they  would  do  nothing  very  outrageous.  Relief,  disap- 
pointment, almost  scorn,  mingled  together  in  her  as  she 
arrived  at  this  conclusion. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  and  Mr.  Mead  will  end  by  being  sen- 
sible," she  said  to  Ora,  with  a  smile  which  was  less 
friendly  than  she  wished  it  to  appear.  "  You  Ve  been 
very  foolish,  but  you  both  seem  to  see  that  it  can't  go 
on."  She  leant  forward  and  looked  keenly  at  Ora. 
"  Well?  "  said  Ora,  put  on  her  defence  by  this  scrutiny. 
"Do  you  really  care  much  about  him?  I  wonder  if 
you  could  really  care  much  about  anybody !  "  She  was 
rather  surprised  to  find  herself  speaking  so  openly  about 
an  attachment  which  her  traditions  taught  her  should  be 
sternly  ignored;  but  she  was  there  to  learn  what  the 
woman  was  like. 

"  I  don't  love  people  often,  but  I  love  Ashley,"  was 
Ora's  answer ;  it  was  given  with  her  own  blend  of  inten- 
sity and  innocence.  To  Irene  Bowdon,  even  armoured 
as  she  was  in  prejudice,  it  carried  conviction.  "It'll 
almost  kill  me  to  go  away  from  him." 
"  You  '11  forget  all  about  him." 

"  Should  I  be  any  happier  if  I  believed  that?  Should 
you  be  happier  for  thinking  that  you  'd  stop  loving  your 
husband?" 


THE   WAYS   DIVIDE  297 

"  If  I  had  to  lose  him  —  "  Irene  began. 

"No,  no,  no,"  insisted  Ora;  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  "  Oh,  you  don't  understand,  how  can  you  under- 
stand? I  suppose  you  think  it's  Jack?  I  tell  you  it 
would  be  the  same  if  Jack  had  never  existed.  No,  I 
don't  know.  But  anyhow  it  would  be  the  same  if  he 
didn't  exist  now."  She  began  to  walk  about  the  room, 
her  hands  clasped  tight  on  one  another. 

As  she  spoke  the  door  opened  and  Ashley  came  in. 
Irene  started,  but  did  not  move :  she  had  not  wished  to 
see  them  together;  the  sight  of  their  meeting  revived 
her  disapprobation;  the  thing,  being  made  palpable, 
became  again  offensive  to  her.  But  escape  was  impos- 
sible. Ora  seemed  entirely  forgetful  of  the  presence  of 
any  onlooker;  she  ran  straight  to  Ashley,  crying  his 
name,  and  caught  him  by  both  his  hands.  He  looked 
across  at  Irene,  then  raised  Ora's  hands  in  his  and  kissed 
each  of  them.     He  seemed  tired. 

"  I  'm  late,"  he  said.  "  I  've  had  a  busy  day."  He 
released  Ora  and  came  towards  Irene.  "  They  Ve  actu- 
ally taken  to  sending  me  briefs !  How  are  you,  Lady 
Bowdon?  " 

"And  the  briefs  keep  him  from  me,"  said  Ora;  she 
was  standing  now  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  smile  at  her.  "  The  world  's  a 
very  selfish  thing ;  it  wants  a  big  share."  He  paused 
a  moment,  and  went  on,  "  I  smell  much  tobacco  ;  who  's 
been  here?" 

"  Sidney  Hazlewood  and  Babba,"  Ora  answered. 
"They  came  about  the  play.  They  want  me  to  sign 
the  agreement  to-morrow." 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said  wearily.  "They're  very  per- 
sistent gentlemen.  Your  husband  all  right,  Lady 
Bowdon? " 


298     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Quite,  thanks."  Irene  rose.  She  had  a  desire  to 
get  away.  She  did  not  follow  the  lines  of  the  play  nor 
understand  the  point  of  the  tragedy  ;  but  the  sight  of 
them  together  made  her  sure  that  there  was  a  tragedy, 
and  she  did  not  wish  to  see  it  played.  In  the  first  place, 
that  there  should  be  a  tragedy  was  all  wrong,  and  her 
presence  must  not  sanction  it;  in  the  second  place,  the 
tragedy  looked  as  if  it  might  be  intolerably  distressing 
and  must  be  utterly  hopeless.  They  would  find  no  way 
out;  his  weariness  declared  that  as  plainly  as  the  help- 
lessness of  Ora's  puzzled  distress.  Irene  decided  to  go 
home ;  she  would  be  better  there ;  for  although  she  had 
her  own  little  tragedy,  she  could  keep  it  safely  under 
lock  and  key.  The  secret  purpose  of  her  visit  stood 
accomplished ;  if  she  had  realised  Ora  in  distress,  she 
would  have  sorrowed  to  send  Jack  Fenning  back  to  her. 
The  difference  between  doing  it  with  sorrow  and  refus- 
ing to  do  it  altogether  was  no  greater  than  might  be 
expected  between  a  woman  and  men  in  such  a  case. 
To  have  got  thus  far  without  having  seen  Mr.  Fenning 
must  stand  for  an  achievement  to  Lady  Bowdon's  credit. 

Ora  let  her  go  without  resistance.  At  the  last  Irene 
was  full  of  friendly  feeling,  but  of  feeling  that  here  was 
the  end  of  a  friendship.  By  one  way  or  another  Ora 
was  drifting  from  her ;  they  would  not  see  much  more 
of  one  another.  Perhaps  it  had  never  been  natural  that 
they  should  see  much  of  one  another ;  atoms  from  dif- 
ferent worlds,  they  had  met  fortuitously ;  the  chance 
union  yielded  now  before  the  dissolving  force  of  their 
permanent  connexions.  But  even  such  meetings  leave 
results,  and  Ora,  passing  out  of  her  friend's  life  as  a 
presence,  would  not  be  forgotten ;  she  left  behind  her 
the  effect  that  she  had  had,  the  difference  that  she  had 
made.     She  could  never  be  forgotten ;  she  would  only 


THE    WAYS   DIVIDE  299 

be  unmentioned  and  ignored ;  there  must  be  many  min- 
utes in  which  Irene  would  think  of  her  and  know  that 
she  was  in  Bowdon's  thoughts  also.  The  way  of  things 
seemed  to  be  that  people  should  come  into  one's  life, 
do  something  to  it,  and  then  go  away  again ;  the  com- 
ing was  not  their  fault,  what  they  did  seemed  hardly 
their  own  doing.  She  was  no  longer  angry  with  Ora ; 
she  was  sorry  for  Ora,  and  she  was  sorry  for  herself. 
Was  there  not  some  wantonness  somewhere  ?  Else 
why  had  Ora's  raid  on  her  little  treasure-house  come 
about?  It  had  done  harm  to  her,  and  no  good  to  Ora. 
But  she  kissed  Ora  with  fondness  as  she  left  her. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  find  you  here,"  said  Ashley,  as  he  es- 
corted her  downstairs.  "  It  shews  you  don't  believe  the 
gossip  about  her  —  about  her  and  me." 

Irene  turned  to  him,  but  made  no  comment. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  there  's  any  particular  credit 
to  anybody  in  the  gossip  not  being  true  ;  still  as  a  fact  it 
isn't  true.     She  hasn't  got  you  here  on  false  pretences." 

Irene  seemed  now  not  to  care  whether  the  gossip 
were  true  or  not.  She  did  not  get  into  her  carriage, 
but  detained  Ashley  on  the  doorstep. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"  Haven't  you  talked  about  it  to  Ora?"  he  enquired. 

"  Yes,  but  Ora  doesn't  know  what  to  do."  She  was 
possessed  with  a  longing  to  tell  him  that  she  knew 
about  Jack  Fenning,  but  her  loyalty  to  Bowdon  still 
restrained  her. 

Ashley  looked  at  her ;  his  face  struck  her  again  as 
being  very  tired  and  fretted,  but  it  wore  his  old  friendly 
smile;  he  seemed  to  take  her  into  his  confidence  and 
to  appeal  to  a  common  knowledge  as  he  answered  her. 

"  Oh,  you  know,  she  '11  go  to  America,"  he  said. 
"It'll  end  in  that." 


300     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"Does  she  want  to  go?"  asked  Irene. 

His  eyes  dwelt  steadily  on  hers  and  he  nodded  his 
head.  "Yes,  she  wants  to  go,"  he  said,  smiling  still. 
"  She  doesn't  know  it,  poor  dear,  but  she  wants  to  go." 

"  She  'd  stop  if  you  told  her  !  "  exclaimed  Irene  impul- 
sively. How  came  she  to  make  such  a  suggestion? 
She  spent  half  the  evening  trying  to  discover. 

"Yes,  that's  so  too,"  he  said. 

"  And  —  and  of  course  you  can't  go  with  her?  " 

"  I  shan't  go  with  her,"  said  Ashley.  "  I  can't,  if  you 
like  to  put  it  that  way." 

She  pressed  him ;   her  curiosity  would  not  be  satisfied. 

"  You  don't  want  to  go?  "  she  asked. 

His  answer  was  very  slow  in  coming  this  time,  but  he 
faced  the  question  at  last. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  go."  He  paused, 
glanced  at  her  again,  and  again  smiled.  "  So,  you  see, 
we  shall  both  have  what  we  really  like,  and  there  's  no 
reason  to  pity  us,  is  there,  Lady  Bowdon?" 

Then  she  got  into  her  carriage,  and,  as  she  shook 
hands  with  him,  she  said, 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  you  're  worse  off  than  a 
good  many  other  people." 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  are,"  said  Ashley. 

And,  as  she  went  home,  she  added  that  they  had 
themselves  to  thank  for  their  troubles,  whereas  the 
greater  part  of  hers  could  not  fairly  be  laid  at  her  own 
door.  "  If  that  makes  it  any  better,  you  know,"  she 
murmured,  half  aloud. 

But  perhaps  one  minded  to  deal  with  her  as  faithfully 
as  she  thought  that  Ora  should  be  dealt  with,  might 
have  observed  that  not  to  become  Lady  Bowdon  had 
once  been  a  thing  in  her  power. 


"THE    CONTRACT     PUNCTILIOUSLY     SIGNED     BY     ALL     THE 
PARTIES,    AND    WITNESSED    BY    JANET     THE    MAID."— Page    301. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

WHAT  DOES   IT   MEAN? 

THE  bargain  was  struck,  the  agreement  made,  the 
contract  punctiliously  signed  by  all  the  parties, 
and  witnessed  by  Janet  the  maid.  There  were  two 
copies;  Mr.  Hazlewood  had  one,  Ora  the  other;  Babba 
possessed  himself  of  a  memorandum.  They  had  opened 
a  bottle  of  champagne  and  drunk  success  to  the  enter- 
prise ;  prospective  triumphs,  thousands,  fame,  bubbled 
out  into  the  glasses.  Babba  was  wildly  hilarious,  and 
vulgar  with  a  profusion  of  debased  phrases  beyond 
even  his  wont.  Mr.  Hazlewood  smoothed  his  brow 
provisionally ;  he  knew  that  it  must  wrinkle  again  many 
times  ere  the  tour  was  done  and  the  thousands  pocketed. 
Ora  talked  very  fast,  smoked  two  cigarettes,  and  darted 
to  and  fro  about  the  room,  restless  as  quicksilver,  utterly 
refusing  to  take  her  seat  on  the  sofa.  The  arrangements 
suspended  during  her  days  of  indecision  could  now  swiftly 
be  put  in  working  order ;  men  waited  for  the  word  at  the 
end  of  cables  and  telephones  across  the  Atlantic.  The 
announcements  needed  only  the  final  touches  of  Babba's 
practised  pen ;  the  berths  on  the  boat  would  be  booked 
before  to-morrow's  sun  rose.  The  thing  was  settled ; 
beyond  all  other  agreements,  this  agreement  was  an 
agreement;  beyond  all  other  undertakings,  this  under- 
taking bound  them  all.  For  they  were  launched  on  a 
great  venture  and  none  could  now  draw  back.     It  had 


302     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

ended  in  Ora's  consenting  to  go,  as  Ashley  Mead  had 
said  it  would. 

Babba  Flint  and  Sidney  Hazlewood  were  gone  ;  Janet, 
who  also  had  drunk  a  glass  of  champagne,  had  withdrawn 
below  again ;  it  was  very  quiet  in  the  drawing-room  of 
the  little  house  in  Chelsea.  Ora  was  in  her  seat  now, 
by  the  small  table,  the  portrait,  and  the  vase  of  fresh 
roses  which  from  day  to  day  were  never  wanting.  She 
lay  back  there,  looking  at  the  ceiling  with  wide-opened 
eyes ;  she  did  not  move  except  when  her  fingers  plucked 
fretfully  at  a  trimming  of  lace  on  her  gown ;  she  was 
thinking  what  she  had  done,  what  it  came  to,  what  it 
would  end  in.  She  remembered  her  uncomfortable  talk 
with  Ashley  the  day  before,  after  Irene  had  gone,  when 
he  would  not  say  "  Sign,"  nor  yet,  "  For  God's  sake, 
darling,  don't  sign,  don't  go,  don't  leave  me ; "  but 
would  only  smile  and  say,  "  You  want  to  go,  don't  you, 
Ora?  "  She  had  been  able  to  say  neither,  "  Yes,  I  want 
to  go,"  nor  yet,  "For  all  the  world  I  wouldn't  leave 
you ; "  but  had  been  perverse  and  peevish,  and  at  last 
had  sent  him  away  with  a  petulant  dismissal.  But  all 
the  time  they  both  had  known  that  she  would  sign  and 
that  she  would  go,  because  things  were  setting  irre- 
sistibly in  that  direction  and  it  was  impossible  to  say 
No  to  fate.  Fate  does  not  take  denials ;  its  invitations 
are  courteously  but  persistently  renewed.  So  now  she 
had  signed  and  she  was  going. 

Of  course  it  meant  much  more  than  appeared  on  the 
surface  ;  she  had  felt  that  even  at  the  moment,  in  spite 
of  Babba's  jokes  and  Hazlewood's  business-like  attitude. 
When  she  was  left  alone,  the  feeling  came  on  her  in  ten- 
fold strength ;  the  drama  of  her  action  started  to  light, 
its  suppressed  meaning  became  manifest,  all  its  effects 
unrolled  themselves  before  her.     Yet  how  shortly  all 


WHAT   DOES    IT   MEAN?        303 

could  be  put ;  she  was  going  away  from  Ashley  Mead  ; 
the  sweet  companionship  was  to  be  broken.  Did  such 
things  come  twice,  could  threads  so  dropped  ever  be 
picked  up  again?  But  all  this  happened  by  her  own 
act.  She  faced  the  charge  with  a  denial  that  there  was 
more  than  the  most  superficial  of  truths  in  it.  She  had 
not  been  able  to  help  her  action ;  it  was  hers  in  a  sense, 
no  doubt,  but  it  was  the  action  of  a  self  over  which  not 
she  as  she  knew  herself,  but  this  mysterious  irresistible 
bent  of  things,  held  control.  And  the  control  was  very 
tyrannous.  Ashley  was  bound  too ;  for  in  all  the  un- 
comfortable talk  there  had  been  never  a  suggestion 
that  he  should  come  with  her;  for  both  of  them  that 
had  become  an  impossibility  not  to  be  taken  into  ac- 
count. As  things  would  have  it,  he  could  not  go  and 
she  could  not  stay.  There  assailed  her  such  a  storm 
of  fear  and  horror  as  had  beset  her  once  before,  when 
her  fine  scheme  of  renunciation  and  reformation  was 
shattered  by  the  little  hard  fact  that  the  train  drew  near 
to  the  station  and  in  ten  minutes  Ashley  would  be  gone 
and  Jack  Fenning  come.  She  caught  Ashley's  picture 
and  kissed  it  passionately ;  then  she  laid  her  head  down 
on  the  cushions  and  began  to  sob.  She  knew  now  what 
she  had  done ;  she  had  driven  Ashley  out  of  her  life, 
and  life  without  him  was  not  worth  having.  How  had 
she  been  so  mad  as  to  sign,  to  deliver  herself  bound 
hand  and  foot  to  these  men  who  only  wanted  to  make 
money  out  of  her,  to  think  that  any  triumph  could 
console  her  for  the  loss  of  her  love?  Was  it  too  late, 
would  not  a  telegram  undo  all  that  had  been  done? 
She  sat  up  with  a  sudden  abrupt  movement;  should 
she  write  one?  They  might  send  her  to  prison,  she 
supposed,  or  anyhow  make  her  pay  a  lot  of  money. 
They  would  think  she  used  them  very  badly.     Oh,  what 


304    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

was  all  that?  They  could  get  somebody  else  to  play 
her  part  — 

Why,  so  they  could !  Anybody  would  be  glad  to 
play  that  part;  it  might  bring  new  treasure  of  glory 
to  the  great  —  sweet  strange  fame  to  one  yet  unknown. 
Ora's  sobs  were  for  a  moment  stayed ;  she  sat  looking 
straight  in  front  of  her. 

Ah,  how  hard  things  were !  How  they  harassed, 
how  they  tortured,  how  they  tore  one  asunder !  She 
lay  back  and  sobbed  again,  now  not  so  passionately, 
but  more  gently,  yet  despairingly.  So  tragic  a  guise 
may  sometimes  be  assumed  by  such  homely  truths  as 
that  you  cannot  blow  both  hot  and  cold,  that  you  can't 
eat  your  cake  and  have  it,  and  that  you  must  in  the  end 
decide  whether  you  will  go  out  by  the  door  or  by  the 
window. 

She  had  told  Ashley  to  come  to  her  again  that  day 
to  hear  her  decision.  It  was  the  appointed  hour,  and 
she  began  to  listen  for  his  tread  with  fear.  For  he  would 
think  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  she  did  love  him ; 
he  would  say  that  she  wanted  to  go,  and  she  loathed 
going;  he  would  tell  her  all  her  going  meant,  and  she 
knew  all  it  meant.  It  would  be  between  them  as  it  had 
been  yesterday,  and  worse.  Alas,  that  she  should  have 
to  fear  the  sound  of  Ashley's  foot !  Ah,  that  she  could 
throw  herself  into  his  arms,  saying,  "Ashley,  I  won't 
go !  "  Then  the  sweet  companionship  and  days  in  the 
country  could  come  again,  all  could  be  forgotten  in  joy, 
and  the  existence  of  to-morrow  be  blotted  out 

And  Mr.  Hazlewood  and  Babba  would  get  somebody 
else  to  play  the  part  —  the  great,  great  part. 

There  was  the  tread.  She  heard  and  knew  it,  and 
sat  up  to  listen  to  it,  her  lips  parted  and  her  eyes 
wide ;    marked  it  till  it  reached  the  very  door,  but  did 


WHAT   DOES   IT   MEAN?        305 

not  rise  to  meet  it.     She  would  sit  there  and  listen  to 
all  that  he  said  to  her. 

He  came  in  smiling;  that  seemed  strange ;  he  walked 
up  to  her  and  greeted  her  cheerily ;  she  glanced  at  him 
in  frightened  questioning. 

"  So  you  've  arranged  it?  "  he  said,  sitting  down  oppo- 
site to  her. 

"  How  do  you  know,  Ashley?  " 

"  Oh,  I  should  know,  anyhow,"  he  answered,  laugh- 
ing; "  but  I  met  Babba  singing  a  song  in  Piccadilly — ■ 
rather  loud  it  sounded  —  and  he  stopped  to  tell  me." 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured  nervously.  That  he  had  come 
to  know  in  this  way  seemed  an  anti-climax,  a  note 
which  jarred  the  tragic  harmony;  she  would  have  told 
him  in  a  tempest  of  tears  and  self-reproach. 

"  You  've  done  quite  right,"  he  went  on.  "  It  wasn't 
a  chance  to  miss.  I  should  have  been  a  selfish  brute 
if  I  'd  wanted  you  to  give  it  up.  Besides  — "  He 
smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Come,  Ora,"  he 
went  on,  "  don't  look  so  sorrowful  about  it." 

He  was  not  as  he  had  been  the  day  before ;  the  touch 
of  mockery  which  she  had  seemed  to  see  then  was  quite 
gone.     He  took  her  hand  and  caressed  it  gently. 

"  Poor  dear,"  he  said,  "  making  up  your  mind  always 
upsets  you  so  terribly,  doesn't  it?  " 

"It's  going  away  from  you,"  she  whispered,  and 
her  grasp  fixed  tightly  on  his  hand. 

"  For  a  few  months,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  long?"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
growing  reproachful;  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  it 
was  eternity. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  think  it  long,  and  you  mustn't 
think  it  long,"  he  said.  "  The  time '11  go  like  lightning. 
Get  an  almanac   and    ink    out   the    days,  as   homesick 

20 


306    A  SERVANT  OF   THE  PUBLIC 

boys  do  at  school ;  it 's  quite  consoling.  And  you  '11 
have  so  much  to  do,  so  much  to  fill  your  thoughts." 

"  And  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  jog  along  till  you  come  back.  I  shall 
be  there  to  meet  you  then.  We  '11  come  up  to  town 
together." 

Was  this  really  all?  Was  there  no  great,  no  final 
tragedy,  after  all?  So  it  might  seem  from  his  quiet 
cheerful  manner.  Ora  was  bewildered,  in  a  way  disap- 
pointed, almost  inclined  to  be  resentful. 

"  It  looks  as  if  you  didn't  care  so  very  much,"  she 
murmured ;  she  tried  to  draw  her  hand  away  from  his, 
but  he  held  it  fast.  He  shut  his  lips  close  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  still  very  quietly, 

"  You  mustn't  think  it  means  that,  dear."  On  the 
last  word  his  voice  quivered,  but  he  went  on  again. 
"  It  means  a  very  long  night;  the  sun  won't  rise  again 
for  ever  so  many  months.  But  some  day  it  will."  She 
had  turned  her  head  away,  and,  as  he  made  this  confi- 
dent declaration,  a  smile  bent  his  lips  for  a  moment,  a 
smile  not  of  amusement. 

"Will  it?"  she  asked,  leaning  towards  him  again, 
praying  him  to  repeat  his  comforting  words. 

"  Of  course  it  will." 

"And  you  won't  forget  me?  Ashley,  don't  forget 
me!" 

"  Not  likely,  my  dear,"  said  he.  "  I  think  Miss  Pinsent 
makes  herself  remembered." 

"  Because  I  shan't  forget  you,  not  for  a  moment,"  she 
said,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his.  "  Oh,  it 's  hard  to  leave 
you  ! " 

She  took  up  her  handkerchief  from  the  small  table  and 
dried  her  eyes.  "  Your  picture  will  go  with  me  every- 
where," she  said,  lightly  touching  it.     "  But  I  shan't  be 


WHAT   DOES   IT   MEAN?        307 

able  to  have  your  roses,  shall  I?     Would  you  like  some 
tea,  Ashley?" 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  said  he. 

After  all,  why  not  tea?  There  is  nothing  in  tea 
necessarily  inconsistent  with  tragedy;  still  her  vague 
forecasts  of  this  conversation  had  not  included  the  tak- 
ing of  tea. 

"Now  show  me  your  agreement,"  he  said.  "I  must 
see  that  they've  not  done  you." 

As  they  had  tea,  they  looked  through  the  contract, 
clause  by  clause.  On  the  whole  Ashley  was  very  well 
satisfied,  although  he  suggested  that  one  or  two  points 
might  be  modified  in  Ora's  favour ;  she  quite  grasped 
what  he  put  forward  and  thought  that  she  would  be 
able  to  obtain  the  concessions  from  her  partners. 

"  I  ought  to  make  all  I  can,  oughtn't  I  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  I  'm  giving  up  so  much  to  go." 

"You  ought  to  be  as  greedy  as  you  possibly  can," 
he  assured  her  with  a  laugh.  He  wanted  to  prevent  her 
from  beginning  to  talk  again  of  what  she  was  giving 
up;  what  she  would  gain  was  a  better  topic;  just  as 
she  must  not  think  how  long  she  would  be  away,  but 
on  the  other  hand  how  soon  she  would  be  back.  We 
cannot  control  facts,  but  there  is  a  limited  choice  of 
aspects  in  which  we  may  regard  them  and  present  them 
for  the  consideration  of  our  friends.  In  this  little  free 
field  optimism  and  pessimism  are  allowed  to  play. 

"  You  can  always  make  me  happy !  "  she  sighed,  lean- 
ing back. 

"  I  know  the  way  to  do  it,  you  see,"  he  answered. 
He  had  decided  that  in  this  case  the  best  way  to  do 
it  was  to  let  her  go  and  play  her  part. 

"  Even  when  you  're  gone,  I  shan't  be  as  miserable 
as  I  was  before.     You've  made  it  all  seem  less— less 


308     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

big  and  less  awful,  you  know.  Every  day  will  really  be 
bringing  me  nearer  to  you  again  ;  even  the  first  day ! 
It'll  begin  directly,  won't  it?  Oh,  I  shall  cry,  but  now 
I  shall  be  able  to  think  of  that  too." 

He  was  not  deceiving  her  in  anything  like  the  grave 
manner  in  which  he  had  deceived  her  concerning  Jack 
Fenning,  but  he  felt  something  of  the  same  qualms. 
He  did  not  yield  an  inch  to  them  externally;  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  cheat  her  into  going  happily; 
when  once  that  was  done,  he  thought  she  would  soon 
grow  happy;  and  if  it  were  to  be  done,  it  should  be 
done  thoroughly.  A  few  tears  were  inevitable,  but  they 
must  be  alleviated  with  smiles  of  hope. 

"  Directly  you  go  away,  you  '11  begin  coming  back, 
won't  you  ?  Really  I  almost  wish  you  were  gone  already, 
Ora !  " 

She  laughed  at  this  whimsical  idea,  but  agreed  that 
the  actual  going  would  be  the  one  irremediably  black 
spot.  Then  she  grew  grave  suddenly,  as  though  an 
unwelcome  thought  had  flashed  into  her  mind. 

"  Ashley,"  she  said,  "  suppose  I  —  I  meet  Jack  !  He  's 
over  there,  you  know.     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  won't  bother  you,  I  expect,"  Ashley  assured 
her. 

"  But  if  he  does?  I  shan't  have  you  to  take  care  of 
me,  you  know." 

"  If  he  does,  you  go  straight  to  Hazlewood.  He  's 
a  good  fellow  and  knows  his  way  about  the  world. 
He  '11  see  you  come  to  no  harm  and  aren't  victimised." 

"Will  he  keep  Jack  away  from  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Take  him  into  your  confidence." 
Ashley  smiled  for  a  moment.  "  He  '11  know  the  sort  of 
man  Fenning  is." 

Ora  seemed  a  good  deal  comforted. 


WHAT   DOES    IT   MEAN?        309 

"Yes,  I  like  Sidney  Hazlewood,"  she  said.  "He's 
awfully  tiresome  sometimes,  but  you  feel  that  you  can 
rely  on  him.  He  gives  you  an  idea  of  strength,  as  if 
you  could  put  yourself  in  his  hands.  Oh,  but  not  so 
much  as  you  do,  of  course  !  But  then  you  won't  be 
there." 

"  He  11  look  after  you  just  as  well  as  I  should." 

"  Perhaps  he  will,  as  far  as  the  actual  thing  goes,"  she 
admitted.  Then  she  began  to  smile.  "  But  —  but  I 
shan't  like  it  so  much  from  him." 

"  You  never  know  that  till  you  try,"  said  Ashley, 
answering  her  smile  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

"Oh,  that's  absurd,"  said  Ora.  "But  I  do  think 
he'll  stand  by  me."  She  leant  forward  and  put  her 
hand  on  his  knee.  "  If  I  were  in  very,  very  great 
trouble  and  sent  for  you,  would  you  come?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ashley,  "  I  'd  come  then." 

"  Whatever  you  had  to  do?  Whatever  time  it  took? 
However  far  off  I  was?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  Anyhow  I  'd  come.  But  you 
won't  — "  He  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "You  won't 
have  any  cause  to  send  for  me,"  he  ended. 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  rather  like  one,"  she  whispered, 
almost  merrily. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  shall  come  only  if  you  're  in 
very,  very  great  trouble ;  otherwise  you  must  depend  on 
Hazlewood.  But  you  won't  be  in  trouble,  and  I  don't 
think  you'll  have  any  bother  about  Fenning."-  For 
would  not  Mr.  Fenning  have  the  best  of  reasons  for 
avoiding  observation  while  Hazlewood  was  about  ?  To 
Hazlewood  he  was  Foster,  and  Miss  Macpherson,  by 
the  dictates  of  politeness,  Mrs.  Foster. 

It  was  in  entire  accord  with  the  line  of  conduct  which 
Ashley  had  laid  down  for  himself  that  even  now  he  said 


310    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

no  more  of  Jack  Fenning,  and  nothing  of  what  he  had 
done  about  him  or  heard  about  him.  He  stood  aside; 
he  had  determined  not  to  take  her  life  into  his  hands ; 
he  could  not  put  his  into  hers;  he  would  not,  then, 
seek  to  shape  events  either  for  her  or  for  himself; 
he  would  give  her  no  information  and  urge  on  her  no 
course.  If  she  came  across  her  husband,  something 
would  very  likely  happen ;  or  again  it  was  quite  probable 
that  nothing  would  occur  except  an  unpleasant  interview 
and  the  transference  of  some  of  Ora's  earnings  to  Jack's 
pocket.  Miss  Macpherson  might  appear  or  she  might 
not.  Ashley  had  gone  as  far  as  he  meant  to  go  when 
he  told  Ora  to  look  to  Mr.  Hazlewood  if  she  were  in 
any  trouble.  And  if  she  should  chance  to  want,  or 
assent  to,  "  nosings  "  being  carried  on,  why,  was  not 
Babba  Flint  to  be  of  the  party  ?  He  dismissed  all  this 
from  his  mind,  so  far  as  he  could.  It  was  not  part  of 
Ora,  but  yet  it  hung  about  Ora ;  he  hated  it  all  because 
it  hung  about  her,  and  would  intrude  sometimes  into  his 
thoughts  of  her.  Why  had  such  sordid  things  ever 
come  near  her  ?  But  they  had,  and  they,  as  well  as 
the  play  and  the  part,  were  a  fence  between  her  and 
him.  The  bitterness  of  this  conclusion  was  nothing 
new;  he  had  endured  it  before;  he  endured  it  again 
as  he  talked  to  her  and  coaxed  her  into  going  happily. 
But  amid  all  the  complexities  of  reasons,  of  feelings, 
and  of  choices  in  which  men  live,  there  are  moments 
when  simplicity  reasserts  itself,  and  one  thing  swallows 
all  others ;  joy  or  sorrow  brings  them.  Then  the  meet- 
ing is  everything ;  or  again,  there  is  nothing  save  the 
parting,  and  it  matters  nothing  why  we  must  part,  or 
should  part,  or  are  parting.  Not  to  be  together  over- 
whelms all  the  causes  which  forbid  us  to  be  together ; 
the  pain  seems  almost  physical ;  people  cannot  sit  still 


WHAT  DOES   IT   MEAN?        311 

when  it  is  on  them  any  more  than  when  they  have  a 
toothache.  Such  a  moment  was  not  to  be  altogether 
evaded  by  any  clever  cheating  of  Ora  into  going  happily. 
There  were  the  inevitable  tears  from  her  ;  in  him  there 
was  the  fierce  impulse  after  all  to  hold  her,  not  to  let 
her  go,  to  do  all  that  he  was  set  not  to  do,  by  any  and 
every  means  to  keep  her  in  hearing  and  sight  and  touch. 
For  when  she  was  gone  what  were  touch  and  hearing 
and  sight  to  do?  They  would  all  be  useless  and  he, 
their  owner,  useless  too.  But  of  this  in  him  she  must 
see  only  so  much  as  would  assure  her  of  his  love  and 
yet  leave  her  to  go  happy.  That  she  should  go  happy 
and  still  not  doubt  his  love  was  the  object  at  which  he 
had  to  aim ;  the  cost  was  present  emptiness  of  his  own 
life.  But  things  have  to  be  paid  for,  whether  we  are 
furnishing  our  own  needs  or  making  presents  to  our 
friends ;  the  ultimate  destination  of  the  goods  does  not 
change  a  farthing  in  the  bill. 

His  last  hour  with  her  seemed  to  set  itself,  whether 
in  indulgence  or  in  irony  he  could  not  decide,  to  focus 
and  sum  up  all  that  she  had  been  to  him,  to  shew  all 
the  moods  he  knew,  the  ways  he  loved,  the  changes  that 
he  had  traced  with  so  many  smiles.  She  wept,  she 
laughed,  she  hummed  a  tune ;  she  took  offence  and 
offered  it;  she  flirted  and  she  prayed  for  love;  she 
held  him  at  arm's  length,  only  to  fall  an  instant  later 
into  his  arms ;  she  said  she  should  never  see  him  again, 
and  then  decided  at  what  restaurant  they  would  dine 
together  on  the  evening  of  reunion;  she  waxed  enthu- 
siastic about  the  part,  and  then  cried  that  all  parts  were 
the  same  to  her  since  he  would  not  be  in  the  theatre. 
To  be  never  the  same  was  to  be  most  herself.  Yet  out 
of  all  this  variety,  in  spite  of  her  relapses  into  tragedy, 
the  clear  conclusion  formed  itself  in  his  mind  that  she 


312    A   SERVANT   OF  THE   PUBLIC 

was  going  happy,  at  least  excited,  interested,  eager,  and 
not  frightened  nor  utterly  desolate.  Yet  at  the  last  she 
hung  about  him  as  though  she  could  not  go ;  and  at 
the  last  —  he  had  prayed  that  this  might  be  avoided  — 
there  came  back  into  her  eyes  the  puzzled,  alarmed, 
doubtful  look,  and  with  it  the  reproach  which  seemed 
to  ask  him  what  he  was  doing  with  her,  to  say  that  after 
all  it  was  his  act,  that  he  was  master,  and  that  when 
she  gave  herself  into  his  hands  no  profession  of  abdica- 
tion could  free  him  from  his  responsibility.  If  it  were 
so,  the  burden  must  be  borne ;  the  delusion  under  which 
she  went  must  not  be  impaired. 

The  last  scene  came  on  a  misty  morning  at  Waterloo 
Station ;  it  had  been  decided  that  he  should  part  from 
her  there,  should  hand  her  over  to  the  men  who  wanted 
to  make  money  out  of  her,  and  so  go  his  ways.  The 
place  was  full  of  people;  Babba  chattered  volubly  in 
the  intervals  of  rushing  hither  and  thither  after  luggage, 
porters,  friends,  provisions,  playing-cards,  remembering 
all  the  things  he  had  forgotten,  finding  that  he  had 
forgotten  all  that  he  meant  to  remember.  Hazlewood, 
a  seasoned  traveller,  smoked  a  cigar  and  read  the 
morning  paper,  waiting  patiently  till  his  man  should  put 
him  in  the  reserved  corner  of  his  reserved  carriage; 
certainly  he  looked  a  calm  man  to  whom  one  might  trust 
in  a  crisis.  Ora  and  Ashley  got  a  few  minutes  together 
in  the  booking-office,  while  her  maid  looked  to  her 
trunks  and  Babba  flew  to  buy  her  flowers.  Nobody 
came  near  them.  Then  it  was  that  it  seemed  as  though 
the  success  of  his  pretence  failed  in  some  degree,  as 
though  she  also  felt  something  of  the  sense  which 
pressed  so  remorselessly  on  him,  the  sense  of  an  end, 
that  thus  they  were  now  together,  alone,  all  in  all  to 
one  another,  and  that  thus  they  would  never  be  again. 


WHAT   DOES    IT   MEAN?        313 

The  tears  ran  down  Ora's  cheeks;  she  held  both  his 
wrists  in  her  hands  with  the  old  grip  that  said,  "  You 
mustn't  go."  She  could  not  speak  to  him,  he  found 
nothing  to  say  to  her;  but  her  tears  cried  to  him,  "Are 
you  right?"  Their  reproach  was  bitter  indeed,  their 
appeal  might  seem  irresistible.  What  now  beside  them 
were  parts  and  plays,  lives  and  their  lines,  Hazlewoods, 
Babba  Flints,  aye,  or  Jack  Fennings  either?  They 
pleaded  for  the  parlour  in  the  little  inn,  reminding  him 
how  there  first  she  had  thrown  herself  on  his  mercy, 
asking  him  whether  now  for  the  first  time  he  meant  in 
very  truth  to  turn  cruel  and  abuse  the  trust. 

But  days  had  passed,  and  months,  since  then ;  with 
love  had  come  knowledge,  and  the  knowledge  had  to 
be  reckoned  with,  although  it  had  not  destroyed  the 
love.  Was  that  ungentle?  The  knowledge  was  of 
himself  as  well  as  of  her;  he  dealt  no  blow  that  he  Sid 
not  suffer.  The  knowledge  was,  above  all,  of  the  way 
things  were  and  must  be.  Therefore  in  all  the  stress 
of  parting  he  could  not,  desire  it  as  he  might,  doubt 
that  he  was  right. 

Hazlewood  raised  his  voice  and  called  from  the  plat- 
form, "  Off  in  five  minutes,  Mead  !  Hadn't  you  better 
take  Miss  Pinsent  to  her  carriage  ?  " 

"  Come,  Ora,"  he  said,  "  you  must  get  in  now." 

For  a  moment  longer  she  held  his  arms. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  see  you  again,"  she  said. 
Then  she  dried  her  eyes  and  walked  with  him  on  to  the 
platform.  Here  stood  Babba,  here  Hazlewood,  here  all 
the  retinue.  Ashley  led  her  up  to  Hazlewood.  "  Here 
she  is,"  he  said ;  he  seemed  to  be  handing  her  over,  re- 
signing charge  of  her.  The  three  turned  and  walked 
together  to  the  train. 

"  You  'd  rather  go  down  just  with  your  maid,  I  dare- 


314     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

say,"  said  Hazlewood.  "  It 's  time  to  get  in,  you  know." 
He  held  out  his  hand  to  Ashley  and  then  walked  away. 

"Now,  dear,"  said  Ashley  Mead. 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  For  long  he  remembered 
that  last  grasp  and  the  clinging  reluctance  with  which  it 
left  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Ashley,"  she  said. 

"  You  're  beginning  to  come  back  from  this  minute," 
he  reminded  her,  forcing  a  smile.  "  As  soon  as  ever 
the  train  moves  you  're  on  your  way  home  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  smiled.  "Yes,  Ashley."  But  the  charm 
of  that  conceit  was  gone;  the  tone  was  doubtful,  sad, 
with  only  a  forced  recognition  of  how  he  meant  to  cheer 
her.  Her  eyes  were  more  eloquent  and  more  sincere, 
more  outspoken  too  in  their  reproach.  "  You  're  send- 
ing me  away,"  they  said. 

So  she  went  away,  looking  back  out  of  the  window 
so  long  as  she  could  see  him ;  not  crying  now,  but  with 
a  curious,  wistful,  regretful,  bewildered  face,  as  though 
she  did  not  yet  know  what  he  had  done  to  her,  what 
had  happened,  what  change  had  befallen  her.  This  was 
the  last  impression  that  he  had  of  her  as  she  went  to 
encounter  the  world  again  without  the  aid  to  which  he 
had  let  her  grow  so  used,  without  the  arm  on  which  he 
had  let  her  learn  to  lean. 

But  he  seemed  to  know  the  meaning  she  sought  for, 
to  grasp  the  answer  to  the  riddle  that  puzzled  her.  As 
he  walked  back  through  the  empty  town,  back  to  the 
work  that  must  be  done  and  the  day  that  must  be  lived 
through,  it  was  all  very  clear  to  him,  and  seemed  as  in- 
evitable as  it  was  clear. 

It  was  an  end,  that  was  what  it  was  —  an  utter  end. 

For  if  it  were  anything  but  an  end,  he  had  done 
wrong.     And  he  had  no  hope  that  he  had  done  wrong. 


WHAT   DOES   IT   MEAN?        315 

The  chilling  sense  that  he  knew  only  too  well  the  truth 
and  the  right  of  it  was  on  him;  and  because  he  had 
known  them,  he  was  now  alone.  Would  not  blindness 
then  have  been  better? 

"No,  no;  it's  best  to  see,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

OTHER  WORLDS 

ELISHA  wore  worthily  the  mantle  of  Elijah ;  nay, 
there  were  fresh  vigour  and  a  new  genius  in  the 
management  of  Muddock  and  Mead.  The  turn-over 
grew,  the  percentage  of  working  expenses  decreased, 
the  profits  swelled ;  the  branches  were  reorganised  and 
made  thoroughly  up  to  the  needs  of  the  times ;  the  big 
block  in  Buckingham  Palace  Road  advanced  steadily  in 
prestige.  For  all  this  the  small,  compact,  trim  man  with 
the  keen  pale-blue  eyes  had  to  be  thanked.  He  had 
found  a  big  place  vacant;  he  did  not  hesitate  to  jump 
up  to  it,  and  behold,  he  filled  it !  Moreover  he  knew 
that  he  filled  it;  the  time  of  promotion  was  over,  the 
time  of  command  was  come.  His  quieter  bearing  and 
a  self-possession  which  no  longer  betrayed  incomplete- 
ness by  self-assertion  marked  the  change.  He  did  not 
now  tell  people  that  he  made  sovereigns  while  they  were 
making  shillings.  He  could  not  give  himself  grace  or 
charm,  he  could  not  help  being  still  a  little  hard,  rather 
too  brusque  and  decisive  in  his  ways ;  he  could  not 
help  people  guessing  pretty  accurately  what  he  was 
and  whence  he  came ;  but  the  rough  edges  were  filed 
and  the  sharpest  points  rounded.  Even  Bowdon,  who 
was  for  a  number  of  reasons  most  prejudiced,  admitted 
that  it  was  no  longer  out  of  the  question  to  ask  him  to 
dinner. 


OTHER    WORLDS  317 

The  business  was  to  be  turned  into  a  company;  this 
step  was  desirable  on  many  grounds,  among  them  be- 
cause it  pleased  Miss  Minna  Soames.  She  was  to 
marry  Bob  Muddock,  now  Sir  Robert,  and  although  she 
liked  Bob  and  Bob's  money  she  did  not  care  much  about 
Bob's  shop.  Neither  did  Bob  himself;  he  did  not  want 
to  work  very  hard,  now  that  his  father's  hand  was  over 
him  no  more,  and  he  thought  that  a  directorship  would 
both  give  him  less  to  do  and  mitigate  a  relationship  to 
the  shop  hitherto  too  close  for  his  taste.  So  the  thing 
was  settled,  and  Bertie  Jewett,  as  Managing  Director, 
found  himself  in  the  position  of  a  despot  under  forms 
of  constitutional  government.  For  Bob  did  as  he  was 
told ;  and  given  that  a  certain  event  took  place,  Bertie 
would  control  the  larger  part  of  the  ordinary  shares  in 
virtue  of  his  own  holding,  his  brother-in-law's,  and  his 
wife's.  Preference  shares  only  had  been  offered  to  the 
public. 

The  event  would  take  place.  Nobody  in  the  circle 
of  the  Muddocks'  acquaintance  doubted  that  now,  al- 
though perhaps  it  might  not  occur  very  soon.  For  it 
was  not  the  sort  of  thing  which  came  with  a  rush ;  it 
depended  on  no  sudden  tempest  of  feeling,  it  grew 
gradually  into  inevitability.  Union  of  interest,  the  ne- 
cessity of  constant  meetings,  the  tendency  to  lean  one 
on  the  other,  work  slowly,  but  when  they  have  reached 
a  certain  point  of  advance  their  power  is  great.  Bertie 
Jewett  had  not  spoken  of  marriage  yet  and  not  for  some 
time  would  he ;  but  he  had  already  entered  the  transac- 
tion on  the  credit  side  of  his  life's  ledger.  Alice  knew 
that  he  had ;  she  did  not  run  away.  Here  was  proof 
enough. 

"  It's  not  the  least  use  your  saying  you  hope  it  won't 
happen.     It  will,"  Lady  Bowdon  remarked  to  her  hus- 


318     A   SERVANT   OF   THE    PUBLIC 

band ;  and  he  found  it  impossible  to  argue  that  she  was 
wrong.  For  there  was  no  force  to  oppose  the  force  of 
habit,  of  familiarity,  of  what  her  family  wanted,  of  what 
the  quiet  keen  little  man  wanted  and  meant  to  have. 
Alice  was  not  likely  to  fall  into  a  sudden,  new,  romantic 
passion ;  her  temper  was  not  of  the  kind  that  produces 
such  things.  She  had  no  other  wooers;  men  felt  them- 
selves warned  off.  Was  she  then  to  live  unmarried? 
This  was  a  very  possible  end  of  the  matter,  but  under 
the  circumstances  not  the  more  likely.  Then  she  would 
marry  Bertie  Jewett,  unless  the  past  could  be  undone 
and  Ashley  Mead  come  again  into  her  heart.  But 
neither  was  her  temper  of  the  sort  that  lets  the  past  be 
undone ;  the  registers  of  her  mind  were  written  in  an  ink 
which  did  not  fade.  Besides  he  had  no  thought  of 
coming  back  to  her. 

But  there  was  now,  after  Ora  had  gone  off  with  her 
play  and  her  part,  a  revival  of  friendship  between  them, 
started  by  a  chance  encounter  at  the  Bowdons'  and 
confirmed  by  a  talk  they  had  together  when  Ashley 
called  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens.  He  was  not  in- 
sensible, and  thought  that  she  was  not,  to  an  element 
of  rather  wry  comedy  which  had  crept  into  their  rela- 
tions. He  was  sorry  for  himself,  as  he  had  very  good 
grounds  for  being ;  he  perceived  that  she  was  sorry  for 
herself  and,  in  view  of  the  dominance  and  imminence 
of  Bertie  Jewett,  fully  acknowledged  the  soundness  of 
her  reasons.  The  comic  side  of  the  matter  appeared 
when  he  recognised  that,  side  by  side  with  this  self- 
commiseration,  there  existed  in  each  of  them  an  even 
stronger  pity  for  the  other,  a  pity  that  could  not  claim 
to  be  altogether  free  from  contempt,  since  it  was  directed 
towards  what  each  of  them  had  chosen,  as  well  as  towards 
what  had  chanced  to  befall  them  from  outside.    They  had 


OTHER  WORLDS  319 

both  been  unfortunate,  but  there  was  no  need  to  dwell 
on  that ;  the  more  notable  point  was  that  whereas  he 
had  chosen  to  be  of  Ora  Pinsent's  party  with  all  which 
that  implied,  she  was  choosing  to  be  of  Bertie  Jewett's 
party  with  all  which  that  implied.  It  was  no  slur  on 
their  own  misfortunes  that  each  would  now  refuse  to 
take  the  other's  place  or  to  come  over  to  the  other's 
faction.  The  pity  then  which  each  had  for  the  other 
was  not  merely  for  a  state  of  circumstances  accidental 
and  susceptible  of  change,  but  for  a  habit  of  mind ;  they 
pitied  one  another  as  types  even  while  they  came  again 
to  like  one  another  as  individuals.  For  naturally  they 
over-ran  the  mark  of  truth,  he  concluding  that  because 
she  was  drifting  towards  Bertie  she  was  in  all  things  like 
Bertie,  she  that  because  he  had  been  carried  off  his  feet 
by  Ora  Pinsent  he  was  entirely  such  as  Ora  was.  There 
was  certainly  something  of  the  comic  in  this  reciprocity 
of  compassion;  it  made  Ashley  smile  as  he  walked 
beside  Alice  in  the  garden. 

"  So  Bob  's  going  to  cut  Buckingham  Palace  Road?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Hardly  that.  Oh,  well,  it  '11  come  to  something  like 
that.     Minna  has  aristocratic  instincts." 

"  I  remember  she  had  them  about  the  theatre." 

"  She  doesn't  like  the  shop."  Alice  had  been  laugh- 
ing, but  grew  grave  now  as  she  added,  "  Do  you  know, 
I  get  to  like  the  shop  more  and  more.  I  often  go  there 
and  look  on  while  they  take  stock  or  something  of  that 
kind.  One  's  in  touch  with  a  real  life  there,  there  's 
something  being  done." 

"  I  suppose  there  is,"  he  admitted  rather  reluctantly. 
"  I  don't  in  the  least  object  to  other  people  doing  it. 
However  you  said  from  the  beginning  that  it  wouldn't 
suit  me." 


320     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  did.  I  think  so  still."  But  whether 
her  reasons  were  quite  the  same  was  more  doubtful  than 
ever.  "  But  I  'm  quite  sure  it  suits  me  admirably.  I 
should  like  really  to  work  at  it." 

"  Sir  James  always  relied  on  your  opinion  about  it." 

"  I  suppose  he  wasn't  so  wrong  as  he  looked,"  she 
said  with  a  little  laugh.  "  It's  in  our  blood,  and  I  seem 
to  have  a  larger  share  of  it  than  Bob.  Why  should  we 
try  to  get  away  from  it?     It 's  made  us  what  we  are." 

"  You  didn't  use  to  think  that  quite." 
:    "  No,  and  you  didn't  use  to  —  " 

"  Be  quite  such  a  fool  as  I  am?  No,  I  don't  think 
I  did,"  said  Ashley.     "  Still  —  " 

"  Still  you  can't  conceive  how  I  can  interest  myself 
so  much  in  the  business?" 

"  Something  like  that,"  he  admitted.  Her  phrase 
went  as  near  to  candour  as  it  was  possible  for  them  to 
go  together.  They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little  way, 
then  Ashley  smiled  and  remarked, 

"  I  believe  we  get  a  lot  of  our  opinions  simply  by 
disliking  what  we  see  of  other  people's ;  we  select  their 
opposites." 

"  Reaction?" 

"  Yes ;  and  then  we  feed  what  we  've  picked  up  till 
it  grows  quite  strong." 

They  fell  into  silence  again.  Friendliness  could  not 
banish  the  sense  of  distance  between  them ;  they  could 
agree,  more  or  less,  as  to  how  they  had  come  to  be  so 
far  apart,  but  the  understanding  brought  them  no  nearer. 
Even  agreeing  to  differ  is  still  differing.  Both  were 
rather  sad,  yet  both  were  smiling  faintly,  as  they  walked 
side  by  side;  it  was  very  absurd  that  they  had  ever 
thought  of  being  so  much  to  one  another.  Yet  it  was 
a  rather  sorrowful  thing  that  in  future  they  were  to  be 


OTHER  WORLDS  321 

so  very  little  to  one  another.  Beneath  their  differences 
they  had  just  enough  of  kinship  to  make  them  regret 
that  the  differences  were  so  great,  and  so  imperative  in 
the  conditions  they  imposed.  A  sudden  impulse  made 
Alice  turn  to  him  and  say, 

"I  know  you  think  I'm  narrow;  I  hope  you  don't 
think  I  've  been  unkind  or  unfriendly.  I  did  try  to  put 
myself  in  your  place  as  well  as  I  could  ;  I  never  thought 
unkindly  about  you." 

"How  were  you  to  put  yourself  in  my  place?"  he 
asked,  smiling  at  her.  "  I  know  you  tried.  But  you  'd 
have  had  to  put  yourself  in  somebody  else's  place  as 
well." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Alice  with  a  shake  of  her  head ; 
she  certainly  could  not  put  herself  in  Ora  Pinsent's  place. 

"  After  all,  people  are  best  in  their  own  places,"  he 
went  on.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  added,  "  Sup- 
posing they  can  find  out  where  their  places  are.  You  've 
found  yours?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.     "  Mine  is  the  shop." 

He  sighed  and  smiled,  lifting  his  hands.  "  I  wonder 
where  mine  is,"  he  said  a  moment  later.  For  if  his  were 
not  the  shop,  it  had  not  seemed  to  be  by  Ora  Pinsent 
either.  "  Perhaps  I  haven't  got  one,"  he  went  on. 
"  And  after  all  I  don't  know  that  I  want  one.  Isn't  it 
possible  to  keep  moving  about,  trying  one  after  another, 
you  know?"  He  spoke  lightly,  making  a  jest  of  his 
question ;   but  she  had  fallen  into  seriousness. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  she  asked. 

"Work  and  labour  truly  to  get  mine  own  living.  As 
for  the  rest,  really  I  haven't  thought  about  it." 

She  wanted  to  ask  him  whether  he  still  loved  Ora 
Pinsent,  whether  he  were  waiting  for  her  to  come  back 
to  him,  and  still  made  that  the  great  thing  in  his  life. 


322     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

But  she  could  find  no  words  for  these  questions  and  no 
right  in  herself  to  ask  them.  The  unuttered  thoughts 
served  only  to  check  her  sympathy  for  him ;  even  if  he 
did  not  look  to  Ora  as  the  great  thing  in  his  future 
life,  yet  she  had  been  so  great  in  his  past  as  to  leave 
him  not  caring  about  the  rest.  "I'm  hard  at  work, 
though,"  he  said  an  instant  after;  it  sounded  as  if  he 
were  seeking  to  defend  himself. 

Alice  said  something  rather  commonplace  about  the 
advantages  of  hard  work;  Ashley  gave  it  the  perfunc- 
tory assent  it  seemed  to  demand.  Then  came  silence, 
and  to  both  of  them  a  sense  that  there  was  no  more  to 
be  said  between  them. 

In  spite  of  this,  perhaps  because  she  would  not  ac- 
knowledge it,  Alice  asked  him  to  dinner  the  next  night, 
to  meet  the  Bowdons  and  Bertie  Jewett;  he  accepted 
with  an  odd  sort  of  desire  to  make  one  of  the  family 
circle  once  again.  His  interest  was  mainly  in  Bertie; 
they  sat  on  either  side  of  Alice.  Ashley's  contempt  for 
Bertie  was  now  entirely  for  the  type,  and  even  there  not 
very  severe,  for  power  of  any  kind  extorts  respect ;  it 
was  in  the  main  supplanted  by  the  curiosity  with  which 
we  look  on  people  who  are  doing  what  we  might  have 
done  had  we  so  chosen,  or  been  allowed  by  nature  so 
to  choose.  There  was  a  moment's  pang  when  he  per- 
ceived that  Alice  was  more  at  ease  and  more  comfort- 
able in  talking  to  Bertie ;  he  was  resigned  to  the  change, 
but  it  was  not  very  pleasant  to  look  on  at  it  in  full  opera- 
tion. Irene,  on  his  other  side,  allowed  none  of  its  sig- 
nificance to  escape  him ;  her  glances  pointed  the  moral ; 
why  she  did  this  he  could  not  understand,  not  tracing 
how  part  of  her  grudge  against  Ora  attached  to  the  man 
who  had  been  so  near  and  so  much  to  Ora,  and  now 
recalled  her  so  vividly  to  memory.     Bowdon  was  polite 


OTHER   WORLDS  323 

to  Lady  Muddock,  but  far  from  gay.  Merriment,  ani- 
mation, sallies  of  wit  or  chaff,  a  certain  amount  of  what 
a  hostile  critic  might  call  noisiness,  had  become  habit- 
ual to  Ashley  in  the  society  which  he  had  recently  fre- 
quented ;  he  found  himself  declaring  this  little  party 
very  dull,  overdone  with  good  sense  and  sobriety,  want- 
ing in  irresponsibility  of  spirit.  He  hinted  something 
of  this  feeling  to  Irene  Bowdon. 

"  Oh,  we  don't  go  in  for  being  brilliant,"  she  said  with 
a  double  touch  of  malice ;  she  meant  to  hit  at  Ora  and 
Ora's  friends,  and  also  perversely  to  include  herself  in 
his  hinted  depreciation  of  the  company ;  this  she  liked 
to  do  because  the  depreciation  came,  as  she  knew,  from 
a  recollection  of  Ora  and  Ora's  sort  of  society. 

"  Being  brilliant  isn't  in  itself  a  crime,"  pleaded 
Ashley;  "  even  if  it  were,  it's  so  rare  that  there's  no 
need  for  an  exemplary  sentence." 

"  Why  don't  you  talk  to  Alice?  "  she  whispered. 

"  She  prefers  to  talk  to  Mr.  Jewett." 

"  I  'm  glad  it  annoys  you." 

"  Are  you?  I'm  rather  surprised  it  does.  I  don't 
know  why  it  should,  you  see." 

Irene  turned  her  shoulder  on  him  with  emphasised 
impatience.  What  right  had  he  to  find  it  dull?  Did 
Bowdon  also  find  it  dull?  Then  came  the  worst  irrita- 
tion —  the  admission  that  it  was  dull.  She  turned  back 
to  Ashley  with  a  sudden  twist. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  expect  to  be  always 
amused?"  she  demanded. 

"  None ;  but  I  suppose  I  may  mention  it  when  I  'm 
not,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  remind  me  of  ?  You  '11  be 
angry  if  I  tell  you." 

"  Then  I  couldn't  deprive  you  of  the  pleasure  of  tell- 
ing me,  Lady  Bowdon." 


324     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  You  're  like  a  drunkard  put  on  lemonade,"  she  said 
with  a  vicious  little  laugh. 

Ashley  made  no  immediate  answer ;  he  looked  at  her 
with  lifted  brows;  then  he  also  laughed. 

"  The  metaphor  's  rather  strong,"  said  he,  "  but  —  if 
you  like  !  " 

"  Well,  you  're  very  good-tempered,"  she  conceded 
with  a  remorseful  glance.  "  I  should  feel  better  if  you  'd 
hit  me  back." 

"  I  've  no  weapon." 

"  Yes,  you  have."  Her  tone  was  marked  and  signifi- 
cant; he  looked  straight  and  attentively  in  her  face; 
her  eyes  were  not  on  his  watching  face  but  on  her  hus- 
band whose  head  was  bent  in  courteous  attention  to 
Lady  Muddock's  doubtfully  expounded  platitudes. 

"Look  here,  do  you  know  anything?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  without  turning  towards  him. 

He  grew  surer  of  his  ground  and  hazarded  his  shot 
with  confidence. 

"  About  a  thousand  pounds?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,  married  men,  married  men !  It  wasn't  his 
secret.     And  why  in  heaven's  name  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  He  was  right  to  tell  me.     I  like  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  truth !  I  'm  fresh  from  a  sur- 
feit of  it.  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  made  you  any 
more — "  He  paused,  in  difficulty  how  to  say  enough 
and  not  too  much. 

"  Any  happier  to  know?  " 

"Well  —  if  you  like,"  said  Ashley,  again  accepting 
her  phrase. 

"  No,  it  doesn't,"  she  said  briefly.  Then  she  added, 
"  I  promised  not  to  tell  you ;  don't  let  him  know  I 
have."  * 


OTHER   WORLDS  325 

"  I  '11  try  to  prove  a  better  confidant  than  he  is,"  said 
Ashley.     "  And  why  did  you  tell  me?" 

"You  half  guessed.  I  didn't  tell.  But  —  don't  you 
think  we  might  sympathise  a  little?" 

"  We  '11  sympathise  all  we  can,"  said  Ashley  with  a 
laugh. 

"  We  might  almost  all  sympathise ;  she  's  made  a 
difference  to  almost  all  of  us." 

"  Who  has?" 

"She  —  she  —  she,"  said  Irene  Bowdon,  as  she  rose 
in  answer  to  her  hostess'  signal. 

"Well,  yes,  she  has,"  Ashley  admitted,  as  he  drew 
back  the  chairs.  And  while  she  was  still  in  earshot  he 
added,  "But  it's  all  over  now." 

"  Indeed  it  isn't,  it  never  will  be,"  said  Irene  over  her 
shoulder,  as  she  swept  away. 

"  How  ready  people  are  with  these  eternal  negatives," 
he  thought  as  he  sat  down  to  his  glass  of  wine. 

Then  he  fell  to  speculating  why  Bowdon  had  told  her 
about  Jack  Fenning  and  the  thousand  pounds,  and  why 
she  had  revealed  that  Bowdon  had  told  her.  To  him 
the  second  question  seemed  the  more  difficult  to  answer, 
but  he  found  an  explanation,  partly  in  her  desire  to 
defend  or  apologise  for  a  certain  bitterness  towards 
Ora  which  she  had  betrayed,  more  perhaps  in  the 
simple  fact  that  she  was  brimming  over  with  the  thing 
and  could  not  restrain  herself  in  the  presence  of  one  to 
whom  her  disclosure  would  be  so  interesting  and  signifi- 
cant. She  had  been  tempted  to  show  him  that  she 
knew  more  of  the  situation  than  he  supposed,  and  must 
not  be  treated  as  an  outsider  when  Ora  and  her  affairs 
came  up  for  discussion.  Anyhow  there  the  disclosure 
was,  with  its  proof  that,  even  although  the  eternal  nega- 
tive might  be  rashly  asserted,  for  the  time  at  all  events 


326     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

Ora  had  very  materially  affected  other  lives  than  his 
own. 

"  Of  course  I  never  expected  to  be  where  I  am ;  at 
any  rate  not  till  much  later." 

Bertie  Jewett  was  talking  to  Bowdon  about  his  success 
and  his  new  position;  he  talked  unaffectedly  enough, 
although  perhaps  it  could  hardly  be  said  that  he  talked 
modestly.  Perceiving  that  his  remark  had  roused  Ash- 
ley to  attention,  he  went  on,  "  Among  other  things,  I  've 
got  to  thank  your  dislike  of  a  commercial  life,  Mead. 
That  let  me  in,  you  see." 

"  Come,  Ashley,"  laughed  Bowdon,  "  here 's  some- 
thing to  your  credit !  " 

"  Really  the  exact  train  of  circumstances  that  has 
resulted  in  putting  me  practically  at  the  head  of  the 
concern  is  rather  curious  to  consider,"  pursued  Bertie. 
Bowdon  listened  with  a  tolerant,  Ashley  with  a  mali- 
cious smile.  "  It  all  seemed  to  be  made  so  easy  for  me. 
I  had  only  to  wait,  and  all  the  difficulties  cleared  out  of 
the  way.  I  can  talk  of  it  because  I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  except  taking  what  I  was  offered,  I  mean." 

"  Well,  everybody 's  not  equal  to  that,  by  any  means," 
said  Bowdon.  "  But  certainly  fortune's  treated  you 
well." 

It  was  on  Ashley's  lips  to  say  "  You  owe  it  all  to  Ora 
Pinsent."  But  the  thing  would  have  been  absurd  and 
quite  inadmissible  to  say.  Perhaps  it  was  also  rather 
absurd  to  think ;  he  knew  the  trick  he  had  of  magnify- 
ing and  extending  his  own  whimsical  view  of  events  until 
it  seemed  to  cover  the  whole  field.  None  the  less,  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  circumstances,  of  the  exact 
train  of  circumstances  as  Bertie  put  it,  forbade  him  to 
rob  Miss  Pinsent  of  all  credit  for  the  result  on  which  he 
and   Bowdon  were   congratulating   Mr.   Jewett.      Why 


OTHER  WORLDS  327 

should  not  poor  Ora,  towards  whom  so  many  people 
were  bearing  a  grudge,  have  gratitude  when  she  deserved 
it? 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Bowdon,  tugging  his  moustache, 
"things  happen  very  queerly  in  this  world." 

"After  that  startling  observation,  let's  go  into  the 
garden  and  smoke,"  said  Ashley,  rising  with  a  laugh. 

In  the  garden  Ashley  talked  to  Lady  Muddock,  and 
had  the  opportunity  of  observing  how  a  seventh  heaven 
of  satisfaction  might  be  constructed  without  a  single 
scrap  of  material  which  seemed  to  him  heavenly.  Such 
a  spectacle  should  serve  as  a  useful  corrective  for  a  judg- 
ment of  the  way  of  the  world  too  personal  and  relative 
in  character;  it  had  on  Ashley  the  perverse  effect  of 
increasing  his  discontent.  If  happiness  were  so  easy 
a  thing  and  placidity  so  simply  come  by,  if  nothing  ex- 
traordinary were  needed  for  them  and  nothing  dazzling 
essential,  why,  what  fools  were  people  who  went  after 
the  extraordinary  and  the  dazzling,  and  yet  in  the  end 
failed  completely  in  their  quest!  And  that  you  were 
a  fool  by  your  very  nature  was  no  comfort,  but  rather 
increased  the  hopelessness  of  the  position. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  how  wonderfully  everything 
has  happened  for  the  best,"  said  Lady  Muddock,  her 
eyes  resting  on  Alice  and  Bertie  who  were  walking  side 
by  side,  a  few  paces  behind  Bowdon  and  his  wife. 

"You're  rather  too  optimistic  for  me,"  said  Ashley 
with  a  laugh.  "  I  think  we  do  the  world  rough  justice 
if  we  admit  that  most  things  happen  for  the  second-best." 

"We  are  taught  —  "  Lady  Muddock  began. 

"  Yes,  but,  my  dear  Lady  Muddock,  we  're  most  of  us 
shocking  bad  pupils." 

Lady  Muddock  made  a  few  efforts  to  convert  him  to 
the  creed  of  the  best,  in  distinction  from  that  of  the  sec- 


328    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

ond-best;  but  Ashley  would  not  be  persuaded.  The 
idea  of  the  second-best  gained  on  him.  What  had  hap- 
pened to  the  little  circle  about  him  was  certainly  not 
ideal,  yet  it  was  not  calamity ;  it  could  hardly  claim  to 
be  tragedy,  yet  you  were  in  danger  of  being  brought  up 
short  by  some  sudden  pang  if  you  tried  to  laugh  at  it. 
It  wanted  then  a  formula  to  express  its  peculiar  variety, 
its  halting  midway  between  prosperity  and  misfortune, 
between  what  one  would  have  wished  and  what  one 
might  have  had  to  take.  The  formula  of  the  second- 
best  seemed  to  suit  it  very  well.  Even  his  own  indi- 
vidual position,  of  which  he  had  not  taken  a  sanguine 
view,  fitted  itself  into  the  formula  with  just  a  little  press- 
ing and  clipping  and  management.  His  life  was  not 
ruined ;  he  found  himself  left  with  too  many  interests 
and  ambitions,  with  too  keen  an  appreciation  of  all  that 
was  going  on  about  him,  to  yield  to  the  hysteria  of  such 
a  sentimental  conclusion  ;  but  it  was  not,  and  now  would 
not  be,  quite  what  he  had  once  dreamed  and  even  lately 
hoped.  He  took  courage  and  decided  that  he  need  not 
fall  below  the  formula  of  the  second-best.  And  what  of 
Ora?  Would  she  also  and  her  life  fit  into  the  formula? 
She  had  never  fitted  into  any  formula  yet;  here  lay  her 
charm,  the  difficulty  and  the  hopelessness  of  her.  But 
then  the  new  formula  was  very  elastic.  She  might  find 
a  second-best  for  herself,  or  accept  one  if  it  were  offered 
to  her. 

In  the  notion  that  he  has  learnt  or  begun  to  learn  the 
ways  of  the  world  and  how  to  take  it  there  lies  a  subtle 
and  powerful  appeal  to  a  man's  vanity.  There  is  a 
delicate  flavour  in  the  feeling,  surpassing  the  more 
obvious  delights  which  may  be  gained  from  the  proof 
of  intellectual  superiority  or  the  consciousness  of  per- 
sonal charm.     It  is  not  only  that  the  idea  makes  him 


OTHER   WORLDS  329 

seem  wiser  than  his  fellows,  for  the  conviction  of  greater 
wisdom  would  not  appear  to  carry  much  pleasure;  it 
makes  him  feel  better-tempered,  better-mannered,  better- 
bred  —  if  it  may  so  be  put,  more  of  a  gentleman.  He  is 
no  longer  one  of  the  pushing  jostling  throng,  eager  to 
force  a  way  into  the  front  places,  to  have  the  best  view 
of  the  show  or  the  largest  share  of  the  presents  which 
are  to  be  distributed ;  he  stands  on  the  outskirts  in  cool 
leisureliness,  smiling  rather  superciliously,  not  exactly 
happy,  but  convinced  that  any  effort  would  turn  his 
negative  condition  into  a  positive  discomfort.  Or  the 
old  metaphor  of  the  banquet  comes  back  into  his  mind  ; 
when  the  dish  goes  round  he  does  not  snatch  at  it;  if 
it  is  long  in  coming,  he  feels  and  betrays  no  impatience; 
if  it  is  finished  before  it  reaches  him,  he  waits  for  the 
next  course,  and  meanwhile  engages  in  polite  conversa- 
tion ;  he  does  not  call  out,  nor  make  gestures,  nor  abuse 
the  waiters  (they  are  great  folk  in  disguise).  The  rest 
of  the  company,  who  do  all  these  things,  commit  gross 
breaches  of  taste;  and  although  he  may  go  home 
hungry  he  will  be  fed  and  warmed  by  the  satisfaction 
of  his  graceful  attitude  and  the  glow  of  his  suavity.  Of 
course  graceful  attitudes  are  a  little  tiring  and  suavity 
is  always  more  or  less  of  a  mask,  but  here  it  is  that 
good-breeding  finds  its  field  and  rewards  him  who  dis- 
plays it  with  its  peculiar  guerdon.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  liked  the  presents  or  the  dishes,  and  he  has  not 
got  them ;  but  then  his  coat  is  not  torn,  his  shirt  is  not 
crumpled,  his  collar  is  not  limp.  The  successful  betray 
all  these  unbecoming  signs  of  a  triumph  in  reality  dis- 
graceful ;  how  have  they  the  audacity  to  exhibit  them- 
selves red-faced,  puffing,  perspiring,  hugging  their  prizes 
to  their  breasts  and  casting  round  furtive  suspicious 
glances,  fearful  that  they  may  still  be  robbed  ?     Surely 


330     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

the  vulgarity  of  the  means  sticks  to  the  end  and  soils 
that  also? 

Here  were  very  ingenious  arguments  to  prove  that 
the  second-best  was  in  a  true  view  the  best;  so  treated 
and  managed,  the  formula  should  surely  assume  new 
attractions? 

But  if  a  man  be  very  hungry?  The  argument  is  not 
fairly  put.  He  gets  fed,  though  not  on  his  favourite 
delicacy.  But  if  he  cannot  eat  rough  fare?  Well,  in 
that  case,  so  much  the  worse  for  him ;  he  should  not 
have  a  dainty  stomach. 

It  is  a  long  way  from  Kensington  Palace  Gardens  to 
Charing  Cross;  there  is  time  for  many  philosophical 
reflexions  as  a  man  walks  from  one  to  the  other  on  a 
fine  night.  But  at  the  end,  when  he  has  arrived,  should 
his  heart  beat  and  his  hand  dart  out  eagerly  at  the  sight 
of  an  envelope  bearing  an  American  postage  stamp? 
Does  such  a  paradox  impugn  his  conclusions  or  merely 
accuse  his  weakness?  Human  nature  will  crop  out, 
and  hunger  is  hunger,  however  it  may  be  caused.  Per- 
haps these  backslidings  must  be  allowed ;  they  come 
only  now  and  then ;  they  will  not  last,  will  at  least  come 
more  seldom.  The  emptiness  will  not  always  vent 
angry  abuse  on  the  good  manners  which  are  the  cause 
of  it. 

The  letter  was  a  long  one,  or  looked  long  because  it 
covered  many  pages  —  it  was  understamped,  a  circum- 
stance prettily  characteristic  —  but  Ora  wrote  large,  and 
there  was  not  really  a  great  deal  in  it.  What  there  was 
was  mostly  about  the  play  and  the  part,  the  flattering 
reception,  the  killing  work,  the  unreasonableness  of 
everybody  else.  All  this  was  just  Ora,  Ora  who  was 
neither  to  be  approved  of,  nor  admired,  nor  imitated, 
but  who  was  on  no  account  to  be  changed.     Ashley 


OTHER   WORLDS  331 

read  with  the  same  smile  which  had  shewn  itself  on  his 
face  when  he  commended  the  formula  of  the  second- 
best  to  Lady  Muddock's  candid  consideration.  He 
came  near  the  end.  Would  there  be  no  touch  of  the 
other  Ora,  of  his  own  special  secret  Ora,  the  one  he 
knew  and  other  people  did  not?  There  was  hardly  a 
touch ;  but  just  on  the  last  page,  just  before  the  "  yours, 
Ora,"  there  came,  "  Oh,  my  dear,  if  only  you  were  with 
me  !  But  I  seem  to  have  got  into  another  world.  And 
I  'm  lonely,  Ashley  dear." 

The  great  clock  down  at  Westminster  struck  one,  the 
hum  of  the  town  ran  low,  the  little  room  was  quiet. 
Perhaps  moments  like  these  are  not  the  fittest  for  the 
formula  of  the  second-best.  Does  it  not,  after  all,  need 
an  audience  to  smile  pleased  and  appreciative  applause 
of  it?  Is  it  as  independent,  as  grandly  independent,  as 
it  sounds?  Does  it  comfort  a  man  when  he  is  quite 
alone?  Is  it  equal  to  fighting  the  contrasts  between 
what  is  and  what  might  have  been? 

"I  seem  to  have  got  into  another  world.  And  I'm 
lonely,  Ashley  dear." 

Heavens,  how  many  worlds  were  there,  that  all  his 
friends  should  be  getting  into  others  and  leaving  him 
alone  in  his? 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE   MOST   NATURAL  THING 

BY  reason  of  the  Government's  blunders  or  of  the 
Opposition's  factiousness  —  the  point  awaits  the 
decision  of  a  candid  historian  in  case  he  should  deem 
it  worth  his  attention  —  Parliament  had  to  assemble 
in  the  autumn  of  this  year;  the  Bowdons  were  back 
in  town  in  November,  the  Commission  met  to  wind  up 
its  work,  and  Ashley  Mead  was  in  dutiful  attendance. 
Before  this  Irene  had  made  up  her  mind  that  things  were 
going  tolerably,  would  go  better,  and  in  the  end  would 
turn  out  as  well  as  could  reasonably  be  expected.  The 
recuperative  effect  of  a  vagrant  autumn  had  produced 
a  healthier  state  of  feeling  in  her.  She  had  begun  to 
be  less  fretful  about  herself,  less  nervous  and  inquisi- 
tive about  her  husband;  she  had  resigned  herself  to 
the  course  of  events  in  a  hopeful  temper.  Bowdon's 
bearing  towards  her  was  all  that  she  could  desire;  it 
was  losing  that  touch  of  exaggerated  chivalry  which 
had  smacked  of  apology  and  remorse ;  it  was  assuming 
the  air  of  a  genuine  and  contented  comradeship.  She 
was  inclined  to  think  that  their  troubles  were  over.  If 
one  or  two  other  things  were  over  with  the  troubles, 
the  principle  of  compensation  must  be  accepted  man- 
fully. After  all,  love's  alternate  joy  and  woe  is  not  the 
stuff  to  make  a  permanently  happy  home  or  the  best 


THE   MOST   NATURAL  THING   333 

setting  for  a  useful  public  career ;  on  the  other  hand,  these 
can  co-exist  with  a  few  memories  of  which  one  does 
not  speak  and  a  cupboard  or  two  kept  carefully  locked. 
Having  brought  herself  to  this  point,  and  feeling  both 
praiseworthy  and  sensible  in  attaining  so  much,  she 
allowed  herself  some  astonishment  at  Ashley  Mead,  who 
seemed  to  have  started  in  an  even  worse  condition  and 
yet  to  have  achieved  so  much  more.  He  appeared  to 
have  passed  a  complete  Act  of  Oblivion  for  himself, 
and  to  have  passed  it  with  a  rapidity  which  (from  one 
or  other  of  the  reasons  above  referred  to)  would  have 
been  quite  impossible  to  the  Legislature.  Surely  in 
him,  if  in  anybody,  the  period  of  convalescence  should 
have  been  long?  Resolution  is  good,  so  is  resignation, 
so  are  common-sense  and  strength  of  will;  but  there 
is  a  decency  in  things,  and  to  recover  too  quickly  from 
a  folly  confirms  the  charge  of  levity  and  instability  in- 
curred by  its  original  commission.  Ashley  should  not 
be  behaving  just  for  all  the  world  as  though  nothing 
had  happened ;  such  conduct  was  exasperating  to  per- 
sons who  had  reason  to  know  and  to  feel  how  much 
really  had  happened.  To  be  cheerful,  to  be  gay,  to 
be  prospering  greatly,  to  be  dining  out  frequently,  to 
have  suppressed  entirely  all  hint  of  emotions  lately  so 
acute  and  even  overpowering,  was  not  creditable  to  him, 
and  cheated  his  friends  of  a  singularly  interesting  sub- 
ject for  observation  and  comment,  as  well  as  of  a  sym- 
pathetic melancholy  to  which  they  had  perhaps  allowed 
themselves  to  look  forward.  It  was  no  defence  that 
Irene  herself  aimed  at  what  he  appeared  to  have 
achieved,  as  at  a  far-off  ideal ;  she  had  not  been,  to  the 
knowledge  of  all  London,  desperately  in  love  with  Ora 
Pinsent ;  she  had  not  thrown  up  brilliant  business  pros- 
pects, lost  an  admirable  match,  and  seriously  impaired 


334     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

her  reputation  in  the  eyes  of  all  respectable  people. 
Neither  had  she  bribed  Jack  Fenning  to  go  away  at  the 
cost  of  a  thousand  pounds. 

"Surely  all  men  aren't  like  that?"  she  cried  with 
marked  indignation. 

She  broke  out  on  Ashley  once  when  he  came  to  tea 
and  they  chanced  to  be  alone;  he  met  her  in  a  way 
which  increased  her  annoyance. 

"Well,  what  has  happened  after  all?"  he  asked, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  smiling  at  her.  "  I  don't 
see  that  anything  has.  Ora  has  gone  on  a  visit  to 
America;  from  what  I  hear,  a  very  successful  visit. 
Presently,  I  suppose,  she'll  come  back.  A  visit  to 
America  doesn't  in  these  days  mean  a  final  separation 
from  all  one  holds  dear  in  the  old  country.  I  believe 
one  almost  always  finds  the  man  who  lives  next  door 
in  London  dining  at  the  same  table  in  New  York ;  then 
one  makes  his  acquaintance." 

"  Do  you  ever  hear  from  her?     I  never  do." 

"  I  hear  from  her  every  now  and  then.  Oh,  I  admit 
at  once  what  your  look  means;  yes,  not  so  often  as  at 
first."  He  laughed  at  the  flush  of  vexation  on  Lady 
Bowdon's  face.  "  I  write  seldomer  too ;  I  can  do  any- 
thing for  a  friend  except  carry  on  a  correspondence." 

"  I  expect  every  day  to  hear  of  Alice  Muddock's 
engagement." 

"  Do  you  really  think  about  it  every  day  ?  "  he  asked, 
raising  his  brows.  "  What  an  eye  you  keep  on  your 
acquaintances !  " 

Was  he  genuine?  Or  was  he  only  perfectly,  coolly, 
securely  on  his  guard?  Irene  felt  baffled  and  puzzled; 
but  it  was  bad  enough  that  he  should  be  able  even  to 
pretend  so  well  to  her;  pretending  that  nothing  had 
happened  was  not  always  easy. 


THE   MOST   NATURAL   THING     335 

"Do  you  think  Ora  will  come  back?"  she  asked. 
"  If  she  's  successful  she  may  stay." 

"  Oh,  she  '11  come,"  he  nodded.  "  We  shall  have  her 
back  in  Chelsea  before  six  months  are  out." 

"  And  when  she  does?  " 

Irene's  curiosity  had  overcome  her,  but  Ashley  laughed 
again  as  he  answered,  "  Ascribe  what  emotions  you  like 
to  me,  Lady  Bowdon  ;  but  I  haven't  heard  that  Jack 
Fenning's  health  's  failing." 

There  was  some  pretence  about  the  attitude  so  puz- 
zling and  exasperating  to  Irene  Bowdon,  but  more  of 
reality.  The  passing  of  the  months  had  brought  a  sense 
of  remoteness ;  it  was  intensified  by  a  gradual  cessa- 
tion of  the  interchange  of  letters.  Ora  had  told  him 
that  she  seemed  to  have  got  into  another  world  and  was 
lonely;  she  was,  without  doubt,  still  in  another  world; 
whether  still  lonely  he  could  not  tell.  She  was  in  all 
senses  a  long  way  off;  what  he  had  chosen,  or  at  least 
accepted  as  the  lesser  evil,  was  happening;  she  and  her 
life  were  diverging  from  him  and  his  life.  He  recog- 
nised all  this  very  clearly  as  he  ate  his  chop  at  the  club 
that  evening.  She  had  found  him  living  one  life ;  she 
had  given  him  another  while  she  was  with  him ;  she  left 
him  a  third  different  from  either  of  the  other  two.  That 
evening,  whether  from  some  mood  of  his  own  or  be- 
cause of  what  Irene  had  said,  she  seemed  irrevocably 
departed  and  separated  from  him.  But  even  in  that 
hour  she  was  to  come  back  to  him  so  as  to  be  very  near 
in  feeling  though  still  across  the  seas  in  fact. 

As  he  turned  into  his  street  about  ten  o'clock  and  ap- 
proached the  door  of  his  house,  he  perceived  a  man 
walking  slowly  up  and  down,  to  and  fro.  There  was 
something  familiar  in  the  figure  and  the  gait;  an  in- 
decision, a    looseness,   a   plaintive    weakness.     Uncon- 


336     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

sciously  Ashley  quickened  his  step  ;  he  had  a  conviction 
which  seemed  absurd  and  was  against  all  probability;  a 
moment  would  prove  or  disprove  its  truth.  The  man 
came  under  the  gas  lamp,  stopped,  and  looked  up  at 
Ashley's  windows.  His  face  was  plain  to  see  now. 
"  By  God,  it  is ! "  whispered  Ashley  Mead,  with  a 
frown  and  a  smile.  A  little  more  slinking,  a  little  more 
slouching,  a  little  more  altogether  destitute  of  the  air 
which  should  mark  a  self-respecting  man,  but  un- 
changed save  for  these  intensifications  of  his  old  char- 
acteristics, Jack  Fenning  stood  and  looked  up  at 
the  house  whence  he  had  once  come  out  richer 
by  a  thousand  pounds  than  when  he  went  in.  He 
seemed  to  regard  the  dingy  old  walls  with  a  maudlin 
affection. 

It  was  a  pretty  bit  of  irony  that  she  should  come  back 
in  this  way;  that  this  aspect  of  her,  this  side  of  her 
life,  should  be  thrust  before  Ashley's  eyes  when  all  that 
he  loved  of  her  and  longed  for  was  so  far  away.  Ashley 
walked  up  to  Jack  Fenning  with  lips  set  firm  in  a  stiff 
smile. 

"Well,  Mr.  Fenning,  what  brings  you  here?"  he 
asked.  "  I  Ve  no  more  thousands  about  me,  you 
know." 

"I —  I  thought  you  might  give  me  a  drink  for  old 
friendship,"  said  Jack.  "  They  said  you  were  out,  and 
wouldn't  let  me  sit  in  your  room.  So  I  said  I  'd  come 
back ;   but  I  've  been  waiting  all  the  time." 

"  If  you  don't  mind  what  the  drink  's  for,  I  '11  give  it 
you.  Come  along."  He  loathed  the  man,  but  because 
the  man  in  a  sense  belonged  to  Ora  he  would  not  turn 
him  away;  curiosity,  too,  urged  him  to  find  out  the 
meaning  of  an  appearance  so  unexpected.  With  Ora 
in  America,  how  could  it  profit  Jack  to  make  a  nuisance 


THE   MOST  NATURAL   THING   337 

of  himself  in  England  ?  There  was  nothing  to  be  got 
by  that. 

When  they  were  upstairs  and  Jack  had  been  provided 
with  the  evidence  of  friendship  which  he  desired,  Ashley 
lit  his  pipe,  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  studied  his  com- 
panion in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Jack  grew  a  little 
uncomfortable  under  the  scrutiny ;  he  was  quite  aware 
that  he  did  not  and  could  not  stand  investigation.  But 
Ashley  was  thinking  less  of  him  than  of  what  he  repre- 
sented. He  had  been  just  one  of  those  stupid  wanton 
obstacles,  in  themselves  so  unimportant,  which  serve  to 
wreck  fair  schemes  ;  he  seemed  to  embody  the  perver- 
sity of  things,  and  to  make  mean  and  sordid  the  fate 
that  he  typified. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  Ashley  asked  suddenly  and 
abruptly.  "  I  've  got  no  more  money  for  you,  you 
know." 

No  doubt  Jack  was  accustomed  to  this  style  of  recep- 
tion. It  did  not  prevent  him  from  telling  his  story. 
He  lugged  out  a  cheap  broken-backed  cigar  from  his 
breast-pocket  and  lit  it;  it  increased  the  feeble  disrepu- 
tableness  of  his  appearance. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it,  Mr.  Mead,"  he  said.  "  It 
may  be  worth  your  while  to  listen."  But  the  sudden 
confidence  of  these  last  words  died  away  quickly.  "  I 
hope  to  God  you'll  do  something  for  me  !  "  he  ended  in 
a  whining  voice. 

This  man  was  Ora  Pinsent's  husband. 

"  Go  on,"  muttered  Ashley,  his  teeth  set  hard  on  the 
stem  of  his  pipe. 

The  story  began,  but  proceeded  very  haltingly;  Ash- 
ley had  to  draw  it  out  by  questions.  The  chief  point 
of  obscurity  was  as  regards  Jack's  own  intentions  and 
motives.     Why  he  had  come  to  England  remained  in 

23 


338    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

vagueness ;  Ashley  concluded  that  the  memory  of  the 
thousand  pounds  had  drawn  him  with  a  subtle  retro- 
spective attraction,  although  reason  must  have  told  him 
that  no  second  thousand  would  come.  But  on  the  matter 
of  his  grievances  and  the  sad  treatment  he  had  suffered 
from  others  Jack  was  more  eloquent  and  more  lucid. 
Everybody  was  against  him,  even  his  wife  Ora  Pin- 
sent,  even  his  own  familiar  friend  Miss  Daisy  Macpher- 
son.  For  Miss  Macpherson  had  deserted  him,  had  gone 
over  to  the  enemy,  had  turned  him  out,  and  for  lucre's 
sake  had  given  information  to  hostile  emissaries.  And 
his  wife  ("  My  own  wife,  Mr.  Mead,"  said  Jack  mourn- 
fully) was  trying  to  get  rid  of  him  for  good  and  all. 

Ashley  suddenly  sat  up  straight  in  his  seat  as  the 
narrative  reached  this  point. 

"To  get  rid  of  you?  What  do  you  mean?"  he 
asked. 

"  There's  a  fellow  named  Flint — "  said  Jack  between 
gulps  at  his  liquor. 

Of  course  there  was  !  A  fellow  who  did  not  despise 
nosings !  That  bygone  talk  with  Babba  leapt  lifelike 
to  Ashley's  mind. 

The  fellow  named  Flint,  aided  by  the  basest  treachery 
on  the  part  of  Miss  Macpherson  —  why  had  she  not 
denied  all  compromising  facts?  —  had  landed  Mr.  Fen- 
ning  in  his  present  predicament. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  it  you  mean?"  groaned  Ashley. 

"  They  Ve  begun  divorce  proceedings,"  said  Jack,  with 
a  desperate  pull  at  the  broken-backed  leaky  cigar.  "  My 
own  wife,  Mr.  Mead." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  you  're  a  much-wronged  man,"  said 
Ashley. 

In  the  next  few  moments  he  came  near  to  repenting 
his  sarcastic  words.      Repentance  would    indeed   have 


THE    MOST   NATURAL   THING   339 

been  absurd ;  but  if  every  one  were  kicking  the  creature 
it  was  hard  and  needless  to  add  another  kick.  He  found 
some  sorrow  and  disapprobation  for  the  conduct  of  Miss 
Daisy  Macpherson ;  it  was  ungrateful  in  her  who  had 
liked  to  be  known  as  Mrs.  Foster  in  private  life. 

"  Babba  Flint  got  round  your  friend,  did  *he  ? "  he 
asked.     "Well,  I  suppose  you've  no  defence?" 

"I've  got  no  money,  Mr.  Mead." 

"  That 's  the  same  thing,  you  know,"  said  Ashley. 
"  Well,  what 's  the  matter  ?  How  does  it  hurt  you  to  be 
divorced  ?  " 

"  I  never  tried  to  divorce  her,"  moaned  Jack. 

"  Never  mind  your  conduct  to  your  wife ;  we  can 
leave  that  out." 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  Miss  Pinsent;  but  she  was  hard 
to  me." 

"  I  've  nothing  to  do  with  all  that.  What  do  you 
want  to  resist  the  divorce  for  ?  "  His  tone  was  savage  ; 
how  dare  this  creature  tell  him  that  he  had  been  very 
fond  of  Ora  Pinsent  ?  Must  her  memory  be  still  more 
defiled?  Should  he  always  have  to  think  of  this  man 
when  he  thought  of  her  ?  Jack  shrank  lower  and  lower 
in  his  chair  under  the  flash  of  severity;  his  words  died 
away  into  confused  mutterings ;  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  towards  the  whiskey  bottle. 

"  You  're  half  drunk  already,"  said  Ashley.  Jack 
looked  at  him  for  an  instant  with  hazy  eyes,  and  then 
poured  out  some  liquor;  Ashley  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders ;  his  suggested  reason  had,  he  perceived,  no  valid- 
ity. Jack  drank  his  draught  and  leant  forward  towards 
his  entertainer  with  a  fresh  flicker  of  boldness. 

"  I  know  what  their  game  is,  Mr.  Mead,"  he  said. 
M  Daisy  let  it  all  out  when  we  had  our  row." 

"Whose  game?  " 


340     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

"  Why,  Ora's,  and  that  damned  Flint's,  and  Hazle- 
wood's." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  in  one  point?  If  you  will,  you 
may  have  some  more  whiskey.  Tell  the  story  without 
mentioning  Miss  Pinsent." 

Jack  smiled  in  wavering  bewilderment.  Why  shouldn't 
he  mention  Ora?  He  took  refuge  in  an  indeterminate 
"  They,"  which  might  or  might  not  include  his  wife. 

"  They  mean  to  get  rid  of  me,  then  their  way's  clear," 
he  said  with  a  nod. 

"  Their  way  to  what?  " 

"  To  marrying  her  to  Hazlewood,"  said  Jack  with  a 
cunning  smile.  He  waited  an  instant ;  his  smile  grew  a 
little  broader ;  he  took  another  gulp.  "  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  Mr.  Mead?"  he  asked. 

Several  moments  passed,  Jack  still  wearing  his  cun- 
ning foolish  smile,  Ashley  smoking  steadily.  What  did 
he  say  to  that?  Babba  had  offered  him  the  service  of 
nosings ;  would  he  not,  in  an  equally  liberal  spirit,  put 
them  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Hazlewood?  Hazlewood 
was  a  good  fellow,  but  he  would  not  be  squeamish  about 
the  nosings.  So  far  there  was  no  improbability.  But 
Ora?  Was  she  party  to  the  scheme?  Well,  she  would 
gladly — great  heavens,  how  gladly! — be  rid  of  this 
creature ;  and  the  other  thing  would  be  held  in  reserve ; 
it  would  not  be  pressed  on  her  too  soon.  The  same 
mixture  of  truth  and  pretence  which  had  marked  his 
talk  with  Irene  Bowdon  displayed  itself  in  his  answer  to 
Jack  Fenning. 

"  The  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,"  he  said,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

Jack's  face  fell,  disappointment  and  dismay  were 
painted  on  it.  His  next  remark  threw  some  light  on 
the  hopes  which  had  brought  him  to  England. 


THE   MOST  NATURAL   THING    341 

"I  thought  you'd  be  obliged  to  me  for  the  tip,"  he 
said  mournfully. 

Tips  and  nosings —  nosings  and  tips  ! 

"  Good  God,  have  you  any  notion  at  all  of  the  sort  of 
creature  you  are?"  asked  Ashley. 

Jack  giggled  uncomfortably.  "We're  none  of  us 
perfect,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  see  that  I'm  worse  than 
other  people."  He  paused,  and  added  again,  "  I 
thought  you  'd  be  obliged  to  me,  Mr.  Mead." 

Ashley  had  fallen  to  thinking;  now  he  asked  one 
question. 

"Does  Miss  Pinsent  know  you  came  here  before?" 

"  Daisy  gave  away  the  whole  thing,"  murmured  Jack 
forlornly.  "All  about  my  being  here  and  what  you 
did;  and  Hazlewood  saw  me  here,  you' know."  He 
paused  again,  and  resumed,  "  It 's  all  pretty  rough  on 
me ;  I  don't  want  to  be  troublesome,  but  they  ought  to 
do  something  for  me." 

"And  they  wouldn't,  so  you  came  to  me?" 

Jack  wriggled  about  and  finished  his  glass. 

"  Well,  I  won't,  either,"  said  Ashley. 

"  I  Ve  only  got  thirty  shillings.  There  's  a  cousin  of 
mine  in  Newcastle  who  might  do  something  for  me  if  I 
had  a  bit  of  money,  but  —  " 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  thousand?" 

"  Daisy  clawed  the  lot,"  moaned  Mr.  Fenning. 

It  was  surely  a  delusion  which  made  Ashley  feel  any  re- 
sponsibility for  the  man ;  he  had  no  doubt  prevented  Jack, 
from  rejoining  his  wife,  but  no  good  could  have  come  of 
the  reunion.  Nevertheless,  on  the  off-chance  of  there 
being  a  moral  debt  due,  he  went  to  the  drawer  of  his 
writing-table  and  took  out  two  bank-notes.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  the  proceeding  was  unfair  to  the  cousin  in 
Newcastle,  but  in  this  world  somebody  must  suffer.    He 


342     A    SERVANT    OF   THE    PUBLIC 

held  out  the  notes  to  Jack.  "  Go,"  he  said.  Jack's 
eyes  glistened  as  he  darted  out  his  hand.  "  Never 
come  back.  By  heaven,  I  '11  throw  you  downstairs  if 
you  ever  come  back." 

Jack  laughed  weakly  as  he  looked  at  the  notes  and 
thrust  them  into  his  pocket.  He  rose ;  he  could  still 
stand  pretty  steadily.  "  You  understand?  Never  come 
back  or  —  the  stairs!"  said  Ashley,  standing  opposite 
to  him  and  smiling  at  him. 

"  I  won't  trouble  you  again,  Mr.  Mead,"  Jack  assured 
him. 

"  It 's  a  case  where  the  trouble  would  be  a  pleasure, 
but  don't  come  all  the  same.  You  'd  be  a  poor  sort  of 
man  to  be  hanged  for,  you  know." 

Jack  laughed  more  comfortably;  he  thought  that  he 
was  establishing  pleasant  relations;  but  he  was  sud- 
denly relegated  to  fright  and  dismay,  for  Ashley  caught 
him  by  the  shoulder  and  marched  him  quickly  to  the 
door,  saying,  "  Now,  get  out."  Jack  glanced  round  in 
his  face.  "  All  right,  I  'm  going,  I  'm  going,  Mr.  Mead," 
he  muttered.  "  Don't  be  angry,  I  'm  going."  He  darted 
hastily  through  the  door  and  stood  for  one  instant  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder 
with  a  scared  expression.  Ashley  burst  into  a  laugh 
and  slammed  the  door;  the  next  moment  he  heard 
Jack's  shuffling  steps  going  down. 

"  I  must  have  looked  quite  melodramatic,"  he  said  as 
he  flung  himself  down  on  his  sofa.  His  heart  was  beat- 
ing quick  and  the  sweat  stood  on  his  brow.  "  Good 
God,  what  an  ass  I  am!"  he  thought.  "  But  I  only 
just  kept  my  hands  off  the  fellow.  How  infernally  ab- 
surd !  "  He  got  up  again,  relit  his  pipe,  and  mixed 
himself  some  whiskey-and-water.  His  self-respect  de- 
manded an  immediate  and  resolute  return  to  the  plane 


THE   MOST   NATURAL   THING     343 

of  civilised  life  ;  an  instinct  to  throw  Jack  Fenning  down- 
stairs, combined  with  a  lively  hope  that  his  neck  would 
be  broken,  was  not  civilised. 

And  was  it  grateful?  His  stiff  smile  came  again  as 
he  declared  that  he  ought  to  consider  himself  obliged 
to  Jack  and  that  the  bank-notes  were  no  more  than  a 
proper  acknowledgment  of  services  rendered.  Jack's 
reappearance  and  Jack's  news  gave  the  fitting  and  ne- 
cessary cap  to  the  situation ;  they  supplied  its  demands 
and  filled  up  its  deficiencies,  they  forbade  any  foolish 
attempt  to  idealise  it,  or  to  shut  eyes  to  it,  or  to  kick 
against  the  pricks.  He  had  elected  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  nosings;  then  he  could  not  look  to  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  nosing.  The  truth  went  deeper  than  that ;  he 
had  been  right  in  his  calm  bitter  declaration  that  the 
thing  of  which  Jack  came  to  warn  him  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  Ora,  being  in  another  world 
and  being  lonely,  turned  to  the  companionship  her  new 
world  gave;  like  sought  like.  The  thing,  while  remain- 
ing a  little  difficult  to  imagine  —  because  alien  memories 
crossed  the  mirror  and  blurred  the  image  —  became  more 
and  more  easy  to  explain  on  the  lines  of  logic,  and  to 
justify  out  of  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  of  women  and 
of  men.  It  was  natural,  indeed  he  caught  the  word 
"  inevitable  "  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  The  whole  af- 
fair, the  entire  course  of  events  since  Ora  Pinsent  had 
come  on  the  scene,  was  of  a  piece  ;  the  same  laws  ruled, 
the  same  tendencies  asserted  themselves ;  against  their 
sway  and  their  force  mere  inclinations,  fancies,  emo- 
tions, passions  —  call  them  what  you  would  —  seemed 
very  weak  and  transient,  stealing  their  moment  of  noisy 
play,  but  soon  shrinking  away  beaten  before  the  steady 
permanent  strength  of  these  opponents.  The  problem 
worked  out  to  its  answer,  the  pieces  fitted  into  the  puz- 


344    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

zle,  until  the  whole  scheme  became  plain.  As  Bowdon 
to  his  suitable  wife,  as  Alice  Muddock  to  her  obvious 
husband,  so  now  Ora  Pinsent  to  the  man  who  was  so 
much  in  her  life,  so  much  with  her,  whose  lines  ran 
beside  her  lines,  converging  steadily  to  a  certain  point 
of  meeting.  Yes,  so  Ora  Pinsent  to  Sidney  Hazlewood. 
It  would  be  so ;  memories  of  days  in  the  country,  of 
inn  parlours,  of  sweet  companionship,  could  not  hinder 
the  end ;  the  laws  and  tendencies  would  have  their  way. 
The  sheep  had  tried  to  make  a  rush,  to  escape  to 
pleasant  new  browsing-grounds,  the  dog  was  on  them 
in  an  instant  and  barked  them  back  to  their  proper  pens 
again. 

"  Only  I  don't  seem  to  have  a  pen,"  said  Ashley 
Mead. 

When  a  thing  certainly  is,  it  is  perhaps  waste  of  time 
to  think  whether  it  is  for  the  best,  and  what  there  may 
be  to  be  said  for  and  against  it.  But  the  human  mind 
is  obstinately  plagued  with  a  desire  to  understand  and 
appreciate  things;  it  likes  to  feel  justified  in  taking  up 
an  amiable  and  acquiescent  attitude  towards  the  world 
in  which  it  finds  itself,  it  does  not  love  to  live  in  rebel- 
lion nor  even  in  a  sullen  obedience.  Therefore  Ashley 
tried  to  vindicate  the  ways  of  fate  and  to  declare  that 
the  scheme  which  was  working  itself  out  was  very  good. 
Even  for  himself  probably  a  pen  would  be  indicated 
presently,  and  he  would  walk  into  it.  On  a  broader  view 
the  pen-system  seemed  to  answer  very  well  and  to  pro- 
duce the  sort  of  moderate  happiness  for  which  moderately 
sensible  beings  might  reasonably  look.  That  was  the 
proper  point  of  view  from  which  to  regard  the  matter ; 
anything  else  led  to  an  uncivilised  desire  to  throw 
Jack  Fenning  downstairs. 

Thus  Jack  Fenning  vanished,  but  in  the  next  day 


THE  MOST   NATURAL   THING    345 

or  two  there  came  the  letter  from  Ora,  the  letter  which 
was  bound  to  come  in  view  of  the  new  things  she  had 
learnt.  Ora  was  not  exactly  angry,  but  she  was  evi- 
dently puzzled.  She  gave  him  thanks  for  keeping  Jack 
away  from  her,  out  of  her  sight  and  her  knowledge. 
"  But,"  she  wrote,  "  I  don't  understand  about  after- 
wards ;  because  you  found  out  from  Mr.  Hazlewood 
things  that  might  have  made,  oh,  all  the  difference, 
if  you  'd  told  them  to  me  and  if  you  'd  wanted  them 
to.  I  don't  understand  why  you  didn't  tell  me ;  we 
could  have  done  what 's  being  done  now  and  I  should 
have  got  free.  Didn't  you  want  me  free?  I  can't  and 
won't  think  that  you  didn't  really  love  me,  that  you 
wouldn't  really  have  liked  to  have  me  for  your  own. 
But  I  don't  know  what  else  I  can  think.  It  does  look 
like  it.  I  wish  I  could  see  you,  Ashley,  because  I 
think  I  might  perhaps  understand  then  why  you  acted 
as  you  did ;  I  'm  sure  you  had  a  reason,  but  I  can't  see 
what  it  was.  When  we  were  together,  I  used  to  know 
how  you  thought  and  felt  about  things,  and  so  perhaps, 
if  we  were  together  now,  you  could  make  me  under- 
stand why  you  treated  me  like  this.  But  we  're  such  a 
long  way  off  from  one  another.  Do  you  remember  say- 
ing that  I  should  begin  to  come  back  as  soon  as  ever  I 
went  away,  and  that  every  day  would  bring  me  nearer  to 
you  again?  It  isn't  like  that;  you  get  farther  away. 
It 's  not  only  that  I  'm  not  with  you  now,  but  some- 
how it  comes  to  seem  as  if  I  'd  never  been  with  you  — 
not  as  we  really  were,  so  much  together.  And  so  I 
don't  know  any  more  how  you  feel,  and  I  can't  under- 
stand how  you  did  nothing  after  what  you  found  out 
from  Mr.  Hazlewood.  Because  it  really  would  have 
made  all  the  difference.  I  don't  want  to  reproach  you, 
but  I  just  don't  understand.     I  shall  be  travelling  about 


346     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

a  lot  in   the  next  few  weeks  and  shan't  have  time  to 
write  many  letters.     Good-bye." 

It  was  what  she  must  think,  less  by  far  than  she 
might  seem  to  have  excuse  for  saying.  He  had  no 
answer  to  it,  no  answer  that  he  could  send  to  her, 
no  answer  that  he  could  carry  to  her,  without  adding  a 
sense  of  hurt  to  the  bewilderment  that  she  felt.  Of 
course  too  she  forgot  how  large  a  share  the  play  and 
the  part,  with  all  they  stood  for,  had  had  in  the  separa- 
tion and  distance  between  them  which  she  deplored  as 
so  sore  a  barrier  to  understanding.  She  saw  only  that 
there  had  been  means  by  which  Jack  Fenning  might 
have  been  cleared  out  of  the  way,  means  by  which  he 
was  in  fact  now  being  cleared  out  of  the  way,  and  that 
Ashley  had  chosen  to  conceal  them  from  her  and  not 
to  use  them  himself.  Hence  her  puzzled  pain,  and  her 
feeling  that  she  had  lost  her  hold  on  him  and  her  knowl- 
edge of  his  mind.  Reading  the  letter,  he  could  not 
stifle  some  wonder  that  her  failure  to  understand  was 
so  complete.  He  would  not  be  disloyal  to  her;  any- 
thing that  was  against  her  was  wrung  from  him  reluc- 
tantly. But  had  she  no  shrinking  from  what  was  being 
done,  no  repugnance  at  it,  no  sense  that  she  was  soiled 
and  a  sordid  tinge  given  to  her  life?  No,  she  had  none 
of  these  things ;  she  wanted  to  be  free ;  he  could  have 
freed  her  and  would  not;  now  Sidney  Hazlewood  and 
Babba  Flint  were  setting  her  at  liberty.  He  was  far 
off,  they  were  near ;  he  was  puzzling,  their  conduct  was 
intelligible.  She  felt  herself  growing  more  and  more 
separated  from  him ;  was  she  not  growing  nearer  and 
nearer  to  them?  The  law  ruled  and  the  tendency 
worked  through  such  incidents  as  these ;  in  them  they 
sprang  to  light  and  were  fully  revealed,  their  underlying 
strength  became  momentarily  open  and  manifest.    They 


THE   MOST   NATURAL   THING  347 

would  go  on  ruling  and  working,  using  the  puzzle,  the 
wound,  the  resentment,  the  separation,  the  ever-growing 
distance,  the  impossibility  of  understanding.  These 
things  blotted  out  memories,  so  that  his  very  face 
would  grow  blurred  for  her,  the  tones  of  his  voice  dim 
and  strange,  the  touch  of  his  lips  alien  and  forgotten. 
She  would  be  travelling  a  lot  in  the  next  few  weeks 
and  would  not  have  time  to  write  many  letters.  He 
knew,  as  he  read,  that  she  would  write  no  more  letters 
at  all,  that  this  was  the  last  to  come  from  her  to  him, 
the  last  that  would  recall  the  intimate  and  sweet  com- 
panionship whose  ending  it  deplored  with  poor  pathetic 
bewilderment.  She  did  not  see  how  they  came  to  be 
so  far  apart  and  to  be  drifting  farther  and  farther  apart ; 
she  saw  only  the  fact.  Was  it  any  easier  for  him  to 
bear  because  he  seemed  to  see  the  reason  and  the 
necessity? 

So,  "  Good-bye,"  she  ended ;  and  it  was  the  end. 

He  put  the  letter  away  in  the  drawer  whence  he  had 
taken  the  bank-notes  for  Jack  Fenning,  drew  a  chair 
up  to  the  table  and,  sitting  down,  untied  the  red  tape 
round  a  brief  which  lay  there.  He  began  to  read  but 
broke  off  when  he  had  read  a  few  lines  and  sat  for  a 
moment  or  two,  looking  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there  's  an  end  of  that."  And  he 
went  on  with  the  brief.  It  was  indeed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

"  A   GOOD   SIGHT" 

"  /^\NE  unbroken  round  of  triumph  from  the  hour 
\^/  we  landed  to  the  hour  we  left,"  said  Babba 
Flint.  He  was  off  duty,  had  dined  well,  and  come  on 
to  Mrs.  Pocklington's  rather  late;  although  perfectly 
master  of  himself,  he  was  not  inclined  at  this  moment 
to  think  less  well  of  the  world  than  it  deserved. 

"  Including  the  legal  proceedings?"  asked  Irene  Bow- 
don,  studying  the  figure  on  her  French  fan. 

"Well,  we  put  them  through  all  right;  pretty  sharp 
too."  Babba  looked  at  his  companion  with  a  droll  air. 
"  Fact  is,"  he  continued,  "  some  of  us  thought  it  as  well 
to  fix  the  thing  while  we  were  on  the  other  side ;  com- 
plications might  have  arisen  here,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  mean.  It 's  her  own  look- 
out; I  daresay  Mr.  Hazlewood  will  make  a  very  good 
husband." 

"  He  won't  make  much  difference  except  in  business 
matters,"  observed  Babba  composedly.  "  We  all  know 
that  well  enough."  Babba  did  not  seem  to  deplore  the 
state  of  affairs  he  indicated. 

"Does  he — the  man  himself?"  Her  curiosity  was 
natural  enough. 

"  Lord  love  you,  yes,  Lady  Bowdon.  It 's  not  like 
the  other  affair,  you  see.      That  wasn't  business  ;  this 


"A   GOOD    SIGHT "  349 

is."  He  eyed  Irene's  face,  which  was  rather  troubled. 
"  Best  thing,  after  all,"  he  added. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Irene,  looking  up  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"  Oh,  mind  you,  I  'm  sorry  in  a  way.  But  if  you 
won't  pay  the  price,  you  don't  acquire  the  article,  that 's 
all.  I  did  it  for  Hazlewood,  I  'd  have  done  it  for  Mead. 
But  if  you  don't  like  being  in  large  letters  in  the  bills 
and  the  headlines,  and  being  cross-examined  your- 
self, and  having  her  cross-examined,  and  having  every- 
body—" 

"  In  short,  if  you  don't  like  going  through  the 
mud  —  " 

"  You  've  got  to  stay  on  the  near  side  of  the  ditch. 
Precisely." 

Irene  sighed.  Babba  fixed  his  eye-glass  and  took  a 
view  of  the  room. 

"  I  'm  not  Mead's  sort,"  he  continued,  his  eye  roving 
round  the  while,  "  but  I  know  how  it  struck  him.  Well, 
it  didn't  strike  Sidney  that  way  and  I  suppose  it  didn't 
strike  her.  Therefore  — "  He  broke  off,  conceiving 
that  his  meaning  was  clear  enough.  "  She  's  coming 
here  to-night,"  he  went  on  a  moment  later. 

"And  he's  here." 

"Situation!  "  murmured  Babba,  spreading  his  hands 
out. 

"  Oh  dear  no,"  said  Irene  scornfully.  "  We  don't 
go  in  for  situations  in  society,  Mr.  Flint.  Isn't  that 
Alice  Muddock  over  there?" 

"It  is;  and  Jewett  with  her.  Still  no  situation?" 
He  smiled  and  twisted  the  glass  more  firmly  in  his  eye. 
As  he  spoke  Ashley  Mead  came  up  to  Alice  and  Bertie, 
shook  hands  with  both,  talked  to  them  for  a  moment 
and  then  passed  on,  leaving  them  alone  together.    Alice 


350    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

looked  after  him  for  an  instant  with  a  faint  smile  and 
then  turned  her  face  towards  her  companion  again. 

"Your  husband  here?"  asked  Babba  of  Lady 
Bowdon. 

"  Yes,  my  husband 's  here,"  answered  Irene.  She 
nearly  said,  "  My  husband 's  here  too,"  but  such  em- 
phatic strokes  were  not  needed  to  define  a  situation  to 
Babba' s  professional  eye.  "  He 's  somewhere  in  the 
crowd,"  she  added. 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Babba,  whether  mirthfully  or 
merely  cheerfully  Irene  could  not  determine.  Her  next 
question  seemed  to  rise  to  her  lips  inevitably: 

"  And  what's  become  of  Mr.  Fenning?  " 

"  Nobody  knows  and  nobody  cares,"  said  Babba. 
"  He  doesn't  count  any  longer,  you  see,  Lady  Bowdon. 
We  've  marked  Jack  Fenning  off.  Bless  you,  I  believe 
Miss  Pinsent  's  forgotten  he  ever  existed  !  " 

"She  seems  good  at  forgetting." 

"  What  ?  Oh,  yes,  uncommon,"  agreed  Babba  rather 
absently;  a  pretty  girl  had  chanced  to  pass  by  at  the 
minute. 

Irene  was  inclined  to  laugh.  With  all  his  eye  for  the 
situation  Babba  reduced  it  to  absolutely  nothing  but  a 
situation,  a  group,  a  tableau,  a  pose  of  figures  at  which 
you  stopped  to  look  for  a  moment  and  passed  on,  say- 
ing that  it  was  very  effective,  that  it  carried  such  and 
such  an  impression,  and  would  hold  the  house  for  this 
or  that  number  of  seconds.  It  was  no  use  for  life  to 
ask  Babba  to  take  it  with  the  tragic  seriousness  which 
Irene  had  at  her  disposal. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  '11  have  forgotten  me,"  she  said. 

"  She  always  remembers  when  she  sees  you  again," 
Babba  assured  her. 

"  Ought  that  to  be  a  comfort  to  me? " 


"A   GOOD   SIGHT"  351 

"  Well,  it  wouJd  be  good  enough  for  me,"  said  Babba, 
and  he  began  to  hum  a  tune  softly.  "  After  a  year,  you 
know,  it 's  something,"  he  broke  off  to  add. 

"  Have  you  really  been  away  a  year?  " 

"  Every  hour  of  it,  without  including  the  time  I  was 
seasick,"  said  Babba  with  a  retrospective  shudder.  "Ah, 
here  she  comes  !  "  he  went  on,  and  explained  the  satisfac- 
tion which  rang  in  his  tones  by  saying,  "  I  see  her  most 
days,  but  she 's  always  a  good  sight,  you  know." 

As  Irene  watched  Ora  Pinsent  pass  up  the  room  re- 
sponding gaily  to  a  hundred  greetings,  it  occurred  to 
her  that  Babba's  was  perhaps  the  truest  point  of  view 
from  which  to  regard  her  old  acquaintance,  her  friend 
and  enemy.  In  personal  intercourse  Ora  might  be  un- 
satisfactory;  perhaps  it  was  not  well  to  let  her  become 
too  much  to  you ;  it  was  no  doubt  imprudent  to  rely  on 
becoming  or  remaining  very  much  to  her.  But  consid- 
ered as  a  "good  sight,"  as  an  embellishment  of  the  room 
she  was  in,  of  the  society  that  knew  and  the  world  that 
held  her,  as  an  increase  of  beauty  on  the  earth,  as  a 
fountain  of  gaiety,  both  as  a  mirror  to  picture  and  as  a 
magnet  to  draw  forth  fine  emotions  and  great  passions, 
she  seemed  to  justify  herself.  This  was  not  to  call  her 
"  nice  "  in  Lady  Muddock's  sense ;  but  it  was  really  the 
way  to  take  her,  the  only  way  in  which  she  would  fit 
into  Irene's  conception  of  an  ordered  universe.  Ashley 
Mead  had  not,  it  seemed,  been  content  to  take  her  like 
that.  Was  the  man  who  walked  a  few  yards  behind  her, 
with  his  tired  smile  and  his  deep  wrinkle,  his  carefully 
arranged  effective  hair,  and  his  fifty  years  under  decent 
control — was  her  new  husband  content  to  take  her  like 
that  and  to  accept  for  himself  the  accidental  character 
which  she  had  the  knack  of  imparting  to  her  domestic 
relations?     He  was  more  respectable  and  more  present- 


352     A   SERVANT    OF   THE    PUBLIC 

able  than  Jack  Fenning.  Jack  Fenning  counted  for 
nothing  now;  in  truth  did  Mr.  Hazlewood  count  for 
much  more?  Except,  of  course,  as  Babba  had  ob- 
served, in  business  matters. 

Irene  looked  up  with  a  little  start;  there  had  been  a 
movement  by  her;  she  found  Babba  Flint  gone  and 
Ashley  Mead  in  his  place.  His  eyes  left  Ora  and 
turned  to  her. 

"  Splendid,  isn't  she  ? "  he  said  in  a  spontaneous 
unintended  outburst. 

"  Yes  ;  but  —  "  Irene's  fan  moved  almost  impercep- 
tibly, but  its  point  was  now  towards  Sidney  Hazlewood. 
"  Would  you  like  it?"  she  asked  in  a  half-whisper. 

Ashley  made  no  answer ;  his  regard  was  fixed  on  Ora 
Pinsent.  Ora  was  in  conversation  and  did  not  perceive 
the  pair  who  watched  her  so  attentively.  They  heard 
her  laugh ;  her  face  was  upturned  to  the  man  she  talked 
to  in  the  old  way,  with  its  old  suggestion  of  expecting 
to  be  kissed.  Sidney  Hazlewood  had  disappeared  into 
the  throng ;  yes,  he  seemed  decidedly  accidental,  as 
accidental  as  Jack  Fenning  himself. 

"  There 's  my  husband,"  said  Irene,  as  Bowdon  ap- 
peared from  among  the  crowd  and  went  up  to  Ora. 

After  a  moment  he  pointed  to  where  they  were,  and 
he  and  Ora  came  towards  them  together. 

"  Prepare  to  receive  cavalry,"  said  Irene  with  a  ner- 
vous little  laugh  ;  the  next  instant  her  hands  were  caught 
in  Ora's  outstretched  grasp.  "  What  an  age  since  I  Ve 
seen  you  !  "  Ora  cried,  and  kissed  her  very  affection- 
ately. She  remembered  Irene  when  she  saw  her  again, 
as  Babba  had  foretold. 

The  two  women  talked,  the  two  men  stood  by  and 
listened.  Ora's  greeting  to  Ashley  had  been  friendly 
but  quite  ordinary  ;  she  did  not  say  that  it  was  an  age 


"A   GOOD    SIGHT"  353 

since  she  had  seen  him,  but  met  him  as  though  they 
had  parted  yesterday.  The  situation  seemed  to  fade 
away;  the  sense  that  after  all  nothing  had  happened 
recurred  to  Irene's  mind.  Sidney  Hazlevvood  instead 
of  Jack  Fenning  —  that  was  all !  But  a  passing  glance 
at  Ashley's  face  changed  her  mood ;  the  smile  with 
which  he  regarded  Ora  was  not  the  smile  he  used  to 
have  for  her.  He  was  admiring  still  (how  should  he 
not  ?),  but  now  he  was  analysing  also  ;  he  was  looking  at 
her  from  the  outside ;   he  was  no  longer  absorbed  in  her. 

"  Oh,  my  trip  all  seems  like  a  dream,"  said  Ora.  "  A 
lovely  dream  !  You  must  come  and  see  the  piece  when 
we  play  it  here." 

They  all  declared  that  they  would  come  and  see  the 
play;  it  and  it  alone  seemed  to  represent  her  trip  to 
Ora's  mind ;  the  legal  proceedings  and  Mr.  Hazlewood 
were  not  thought  of. 

"  I  had  lots  of  fun  and  no  trouble,"  said  Ora. 

Ashley  Mead  gave  a  sudden  short  laugh.  It  made 
Irene  start  and  she  fell  to  fingering  her  fan  in  some 
embarrassment;  Bowdon's  smile  also  was  uncomfort- 
able.    Ora  looked  at  Ashley  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"  He 's  laughing  at  me  for  something,"  she  said  to 
Irene.  "  I  don't  know  what.  Will  you  tell  me  if  I  come 
down  to  supper  with  you,  Ashley?" 

She  still  called  him  Ashley;  Irene  was  definitely  dis- 
pleased ;  she  thought  the  use  of  his  first  name  decidedly 
unseemly  under  the  circumstances. 

"  I  '11  try,"  said  Ashley.  Ora  took  his  arm  and  waved 
a  gay  adieu.  "  Come  and  see  me  very  soon,"  she  called, 
and,  as  she  turned  away,  she  shot  a  glance  at  Bowdon. 
"You  come  too  ;  you  haven't  been  for  —  "  She  paused 
and  ended  with  a  laugh.  "  Well,  for  almost  longer  than 
I  can  remember." 

23 


354     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

The  supper-room  was  not  very  full ;  they  got  a  little 
table  to  themselves  and  sat  down.  It  was  away  in  a 
corner :    they  were  in  effect  alone. 

"  What  were  you  laughing  at?     Me?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  answered  Ashley. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  .  rather  distrustful  and 
inquisitive  glance. 

"  How  funnily  everything  has  turned  out,"  she  began 
rather  timidly.  It  was  just  as  he  had  expected  her  to 
begin. 

"  Funnily?  Oh,  I  don't  see  that.  I  call  it  all  very 
natural,"  he  said. 

"  Natural !  "  Ora  repeated,  lifting  her  brows.  Ashley 
nodded,  and  drank  some  champagne. 

Ora  seemed  disappointed  to  find  him  taking  that 
view.  The  expression  of  her  face  set  him  smiling 
again. 

"  I  don't  think  I  like  you  to  laugh,"  she  said.  "  It 
seems  rather  unkind,  I  think." 

He  raised  his  eyes  %o  hers  suddenly.  "  Then  I  won't 
laugh,"  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone.  "  But  I  wasn't  laugh- 
ing in  that  way  at  all,  really."  He  had,  at  all  events, 
grown  grave  now ;  he  pushed  his  chair  a  little  back  and 
leant  his  elbow  on  the  table,  resting  his  head  on  his 
hand. 

"  If  I  told  you  all  about  how  it  happened  —  "  she 
began. 

"  Your  letter  told  me,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  tell  me  again." 

Her  eyes  grew  affectionate.  She  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  Was  it  hard,  dear  Ashley?  "  she  whispered. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be  from  the  moment  you  went 
away,"  was  his  answer. 


"A   GOOD   SIGHT"  355 

"  Then  why  did  you  let  me  go  ?  "  she  asked  quickly, 
and,  as  he  fancied,  rather  reproachfully.  She  seemed 
to  snatch  at  a  chance  of  excusing  herself. 

"  You  wanted  to  go." 

Ora  looked  a  little  troubled ;  she  knit  her  brows  and 
clasped  her  hands ;  she  seemed  to  be  turning  what  he 
said  over  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  deny  its  truth,  but  its 
truth  distressed  her  vaguely. 

"  It 's  no  use  bothering  ourselves  trying  to  explain 
things,"  Ashley  went  on  more  lightly.  "It's  all  over 
now,  anyhow."  He  was  conscious  of  the  old  weakness  — 
he  could  not  cause  her  pain.  His  impulse  even  now  was 
to  make  her  think  that  she  had  been  in  all  things  right. 

"  Yes."  Her  dark  eyes  rested  on  his  face  a  moment. 
"You  liked  it  while  it  lasted?  " 

"Very  much,"  he  admitted,  smiling  again  for  a 
moment.  "  But  it 's  over.  I  'm  sorry  it 's  over,  you 
know." 

"Are  you,  Ashley?  Really  sorry?"  He  nodded. 
"  So  am  I,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  she  followed  his  example ;  but 
she  would  not  let  him  take  her  back  to  where  the  people 
were,  but  made  him  sit  down  in  a  recess  in  the  passage 
outside  the  drawing-room.  She  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  a  pensive  mood ;  he  was  content  to  sit  by  her  in 
silence  until  she  spoke  again. 

"  Sidney  was  very  kind,  and  very  helpful  to  me,"  she 
said  at  last.  "  I  got  to  like  him  very  much."  She  was 
pleading  with  Ashley  in  her  praise  of  Hazlewood. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  he  murmured.  "  Good  heavens, 
you  don't  think  I  'm  blaming  you?  " 

He  had  said  that  to  her  before ;  she  did  not  accept  it 
so  readily  now. 

"  Yes,   you    are,"    she    said,    with    a    little    temper. 


356     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

'  You  Ve  set  me  down  for  something- — as  some  sort  of 
person.  I  know  you  have.  You  may  say  that 's  not 
blaming,  but  it 's  just  as  bad." 

He  was  surprised  at  her  penetration. 

"  I  suppose  you  always  felt  like  that  really,  down  in 
your  heart,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "  But  you  used 
to  like  me." 

"  I  should  rather  think  I  did,"  said  Ashley. 

"  You  don't  now?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Not  so  much?  Not  in  the  same  way?"  A  touch 
of  urgency  had  come  into  her  tone. 

"Should  you  expect  that?  And  I'm  sure  you 
wouldn't  wish  it." 

"Some  people  go  on  caring  always  —  whatever 
happens." 

He  leant  forward  towards  her  and  spoke  in  a  low 
serious  voice. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  think  of  my  life  without 
thinking  of  you,"  he  told  her.  After  a  pause  he  added, 
"That's  the  truth  of  it,  but  I  don't  know  exactly  how 
much  it  comes  to.  A  good  deal,  I  expect;  more  than 
generally  happens  in  such  cases." 

"You'll  marry  somebody!"  The  prospect  did  not 
seem  to  please  her. 

"  Very  likely,"  he  answered.  "  What  difference  does 
that  make?  Whatever  happens,  you're  there.  You 
put  yourself  there,  and  you  can't  take  yourself  away 
again." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Ora,  with  all  her  old  sincerity 
in  the  avowal  of  her  feelings. 

"  Of  course  you  don't,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 
She  had  spoken  seriously,  almost  pathetically,  as  though 
she  were  asking  to  be  allowed  to  stay  with  him  in  some 


"A   GOOD   SIGHT"  357 

such  way  as  he  had  hinted  at;  for  the  first  time  he 
recognised  the  look  of  appeal  once  so  familiar.  It 
brought  to  him  mingled  pain  and  pleasure ;  it  roused  a 
tenderness  which  made  him  anxious  above  all  to  say- 
nothing  that  would  hurt  her,  and  to  leave  her  happy 
and  content  with  herself  when  they  parted;  this  also 
was  quite  in  the  old  fashion. 

"  Why,  you  '11  stand  for  the  best  time  and  the  best 
thing  in  my  life,"  he  said.  "  You  '11  be  my  holiday, 
Ora.     But  we  can't  have  holidays  all  the  time." 

"  We  had  some  lovely  days  together,  hadn't  we?  I  'm 
not  sure  the  first  wasn't  best  of  all.     You  remember?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember." 

"  You  're  laughing  again."  But  now  Ora  laughed  a 
little  herself.  The  cloud  was  passing  away;  she  was 
regaining  the  serenity  of  which  too  much  self-examina- 
tion had  threatened  to  rob  her,  and  the  view  of  herself 
as  the  passive  subject  of  occurrences  at  which  she,  in 
common  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  at  liberty  to  sigh 
or  smile  in  a  detached  irresponsibility. 

A  man  passed  by  and  bowed,  saying,  "  How  do  you 
do,  Mrs.  Hazlewood?" 

"  Isn't  that  funny?  "  asked  Ora.  "  Nobody  thinks  of 
calling  me  Mrs.  Hazlewood." 

"  I  certainly  shan't  think  of  calling  you  anything  of 
the  kind,"  said  Ashley. 

She  laughed,  seemed  to  hesitate  a  little,  but  then 
risked  her  shot. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  expected  me  to  be  called  Mrs. 
Mead,  would  you?"  she  asked. 

"No,  I  shouldn't,"  he  answered  with  a  smile.  The 
whole  case  seemed  to  be  stated  in  her  question.  She 
not  only  would  not  have  been  called,  but  she  would  not 
really  have  been,  Mrs.  Mead  —  not  in  any  sense  which 


358     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

was  of  true  importance.  Neither  had  she  been  Mrs. 
Fenning;  neither  was  she  Mrs.  Hazlewood;  she  was 
and  would  remain  Ora  Pinsent. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  mind  it,"  Ora  went  on,  with  a  smile 
whose  graciousness  was  for  both  her  actual  husband  in 
the  drawing-room  and  her  hypothetical  husband  in  the 
recess.  "  But  somehow  it  always  sounds  odd."  She 
laughed,  adding,  "  I  suppose  some  people  would  call 
that  odd  —  your  friend  Alice  Muddock,  for  instance." 

"  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  that  Alice  Muddock  would 
call  it  very  odd." 

"  She  never  liked  me  really,  you  know." 

"  Well,  perhaps  she  didn't." 

"  But  she  did  like  you,  Ashley." 

"  She  certainly  doesn't,"  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

"  Oh,  you  'd  never  have  got  on  with  her,"  said  Ora 
scornfully.  Then  she  jumped  up  suddenly,  crying, 
"  There  's  Babba,  I  want  to  s»peak  to  him."  But  before 
she  went,  she  said  one  word  more.  "  You  were  the 
truest  finest  friend,  Ashley.  And  I  wasn't  worthy." 
She  looked  at  him  in  appeal.  "  No,  not  worthy,"  she 
repeated.  "  I  think  Alice  Muddock  's  right  about  me." 
She  threw  out  her  hands  in  the  saddest  little  protest, 
dumbly  accusing  the  Power  that  had  made  her  what  she 
was.  "  I  think  you  could  still  break  my  heart  by  being 
unhappy,"  said  Ashley  Mead.  She  gave  him  a  little 
wistful  smile,  shook  her  head,  and  walked  quickly  away. 
Her  voice  rose  gaily  the  next  moment,  crying,  "  Babba, 
Babba !  "     And  that  was  all  Babba's  situation  came  to. 

There  was  in  fact  no  situation ;  there  was  only  a  state 
of  things ;  so  Ashley  decided  as  he  sat  on  alone.  Per- 
haps rather  a  strange  state  of  things,  but  certainly  no 
more  than  that.     Her  being  here  in  town,  liable  to  be 


"A   GOOD   SIGHT"  359 

met,  having  to  be  spoken  to,  being  again  a  presence  as 
well  as  a  memory —  all  this  made  his  position  different 
from  what  it  had  been  while  she  was  over  seas.  But 
stranger  still  was  the  knowledge  that,  however  often  she 
were  met  and  spoken  to,  the  presence  would  be  and 
would  rest  different  from  the  memory.  He  had  recog- 
nised the  possibility  that  all  which  had  come  to  him  in 
the  months  of  separation  would  vanish  again  at  her 
living  touch  and  that  the  old  feelings  would  revive  in 
their  imperious  exclusive  sway.  He  had  known  that 
this  might  happen;  he  had  not  known  whether  he 
hoped  or  feared  its  happening;  because,  if  it  happened, 
there  was  no  telling  what  else  might  happen.  Now  he 
became  aware  that  it  would  not  happen,  and  (perhaps 
this  was  strangest  of  all)  that  the  insuperable  obstacle 
came  from  himself  and  not  from  her.  She  had  not 
ceased,  and  could  not  cease,  to  attract,  amuse,  and 
charm,  or  even  to  be  the  woman  with  whom  out  of  all 
women  he  would  best  like  to  be.  But  here  the  power 
of  her  presence  stopped  ;  it  owned  limits  ;  it  had  not  a 
boundless  empire  ;  that  belonged  now  only  to  the  mem- 
ory of  her.  It  was  then  the  memory,  not  the  presence, 
which  he  would  always  think  of  when  he  thought  of  his 
life,  which  would  be  the  great  thing  to  him,  which  would 
abide  always  with  him,  unchanged,  unweakened,  unspoilt 
either  by  what  she  was  now  or  in  the  future  might  be. 
She  was  beyond  her  own  power ;  herself,  as  she  had 
been  to  him,  she  could  neither  efface  nor  mar.  He  had 
idealised  her ;  he  was  rich  in  the  possession  of  the  image 
his  idealising  had  made  ;  but  the  woman  before  his  eyes 
was  different  or  seen  with  different  eyes.  As  this  came 
home  to  his  mind,  a  sense  of  relief  rose  for  a  moment 
in  him;  he  hailed  its  appearance  with  eagerness;  but 
its  appearance  was  brief;  it  was  drowned  in  a  sense  of 


360     A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

loss.  He  was  free;  that  was  the  undoubted  meaning 
of  what  he  felt;  but  he  was  free  at  a  great  cost.  It 
was  as  though  a  man  got  rid  of  his  fetters  by  cutting  off 
the  limb  that  carried  them. 

He  strolled  back  into  the  drawing-room.  The  throng 
had  grown  thin.  Alice  Muddock  and  Bertie  Jewett 
were  gone ;  Alice  had  kept  out  of  Ora's  way.  Babba 
Flint  was  just  saying  good-bye ;  the  Bowdons,  Ora,  and 
Hazlewood  were  standing  in  a  group  together  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  He  noticed  that  Hazlewood  shifted 
his  position  a  little  so  as  to  present  a  fullback  view. 
Really  Hazlewood  need  not  feel  uncomfortable.  Hazle- 
wood as  an  individual  was  of  such  very  small  impor- 
tance. However  Ashley  did  not  thrust  his  presence  on 
him,  but  went  off  and  talked  for  a  few  moments  with 
his  hostess.  Meanwhile  the  group  separated;  Ora 
came  towards  Mrs.  Pocklington,  Hazlewood  following. 
Ashley  hastily  said  his  own  farewell  and  sauntered  off; 
Ora  waved  her  hand  to  him  with  her  lavish  freedom 
and  airy  grace  of  gesture,  calling,  "  Good-night,  Ash- 
ley !  "  Hazlewood  exchanged  a  nod  with  him ;  then  the 
pair  passed  out. 

In  the  hall  Bowdon  suggested  that  they  should  walk  a 
little  way  together,  the  night  being  fine.  Irene  knew 
well  why  they  wanted  to  walk  together,  but  got  into  her 
carriage  without  objection ;  she  had  no  more  to  fear 
from  Ora.  As  for  Ashley,  so  for  her  Ora's  work  lay 
in  the  past,  not  in  the  present  or  the  future.  The 
difference  in  her  life,  as  in  his,  had  been  made  once  and 
for  all ;  nothing  that  came  now  could  either  increase  it 
or  take  it  away.  Her  fears,  her  jealousy,  her  grudge, 
were  for  the  memory,  not  for  the  presence. 

The  two  men  who  had  wanted  to  talk  to  one  another 
walked   in   silence,  side   by   side.      But   presently   the 


"ITS  INFERNALLY  IMPERTINENT  OF  ME,  BUT,  I  SAY,  ASH- 
LEY,  ARE   \OU   STILL    IN   LOVE   WITH   HER?'*—  Page   361. 


"A   GOOD   SIGHT"  361 

silence  seemed  absurd,  and  they  spoke  of  trivial  matters. 
Then  came  silence  again. 

"  I  mustn't  come  much  further,"  said  Bowdon  at  last, 
"  or  I  shan't  get  home  to-night." 

"  Oh,  come  on  a  little  way ;  it  '11  do  you  good,"  said 
Ashley. 

So  they  went  on  a  little  way.     And  at  last  Bowdon 

spoke. 

"  She  doesn't  look  a  day  older,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no.  She  won't  look  a  day  older  for  ever  so 
long.  " 

"And   old   Hazlewood 's  just   the   same,  wrinkle  and 

all." 

"  She  won't  smooth  that  away,"  said  Ashley  with  a 

laugh. 

Bowdon  took  his  arm  and  they  walked  on  together  for 
a  little  way  further.     Then  Bowdon  stopped. 

"  I  'm  going  home,"  he  said,  dropping  Ashley's  arm. 
"  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  Ashley  answered. 

But  for  a  moment  Bowdon  did  not  go.  With  a  smile 
at  once  confidential  and  apologetic  he  put  the  question 
which  was  in  his  mind:  "It's  infernally  impertinent  of 
me,  but,  I  say,  Ashley,  are  you  still  in  love  with  her?  " 

Ashley  looked  him  full  in  the  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  gave  his  answer.  "No,  I'm  not,  but  I  wish  to 
God  I  was !  "  he  said. 

For  in  that  love  his  life  had  done  its  uttermost ;  it 
would  do  no  such  good  thing  again.  He  had  called 
Ora's  time  his  holiday  time.  It  was  over.  The  rare 
quality  of  its  pleasure  he  would  taste  no  more.  Bowdon 
nodded  in  understanding.  "A  wonderful  creature!" 
he  said,  as  he  turned  away. 

A  wonderful  creature !     Or,  as  Babba  Flint  had  pre- 


362    A   SERVANT   OF   THE   PUBLIC 

ferred  to  put  it,  "  A  good  sight."  Yes,  that  must  be 
the  way  to  look  at  her,  the  right  way  to  look  at  her 
existence,  the  truth  about  it.  Only  when  Ashley  re- 
membered that  little  gesture  of  dumb  protest,  the  truth 
seemed  rather  hard  —  and  hard  not  for  himself  alone. 
If  she  sacrificed  others,  if  her  nature  were  shaped  to 
that,  was  she  not  a  sacrifice  herself —  sacrificed  that 
beautiful  things  might  be  set  before  the  eyes  and  in  the 
hearts  of  men?  Let  judgment  then  be  gentle,  and  love 
unashamed. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall 

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